Paper Doll
by Integrandia
Summary: When Beth meets the Winchester brothers, her ordinary life is thrown into chaos. Now she's in danger from a magical threat, and she finds herself drawn further into the world of hunting as she tries to stay alive and stay safe. Chapter 24: "The Family Business" Jo and Beth keep hunting, and Sam calls about a job gone wrong.
1. Out of Order

[Author's Note: Welcome to Paper Doll! I hope you enjoy this ongoing Supernatural saga, there will be much more to come. I co-wrote this fic with my sister, TechGirl, so I want to give her tons of credit. Also a big thank you to our beta, Amanda - we appreciate you!]

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Chapter One ~ Out of Order

The elevator was out of service. Again.

Beth heaved a sigh as she looked at the sign on the elevator door. She was already having a bad day, and this was just the icing on the cake. Irritably, she hoisted her purse and computer bag a few inches higher on her shoulder. Then she headed for the stairs.

As she climbed, she complained silently to herself about the broken elevator, the old building where something was always going wrong, the unreliable landlord, the narrow staircase, her sixth floor apartment, and, most of all, the _incompetent_ utilities company at her office. She had been halfway through a major server update when the whole damn building lost power. It was going to take them hours to fix the outage, so she had nothing to do but go home for the afternoon. She would feel grateful for the time off, but she was going to have to go back later that night to get the servers up and running for tomorrow. She just prayed the outage hadn't caused any serious damage.

She fumbled through her purse for her keys as she climbed the last few steps. Finally, she arrived at her apartment door. As she let herself in, she called out, "Krista? I'm home early." She wasn't even sure if her roommate was around, but she had told Krista she would be working late that day because of the update, so she figured a heads-up was in order.

A smell wafted out of the apartment and hit her nostrils: it smelled like sweat and blood, with a hint of rotten eggs. This was getting out of hand. Krista had always been weird, which was fine—Beth had no problem with goths. They were both fairly quiet and moderately tidy, and they stayed out of each other's way, so it was a good living arrangement. It certainly helped pay the rent, which was important for someone like Beth, not long out of school and living in the city.

Lately, though, Krista had been taking this whole "witchcraft" schtick way too seriously, burning herbs and performing strange rituals, setting out black candles and wearing heavy amulets. Beth didn't really care what Krista chose to in her own room, but stinking up the whole apartment was not cool.

"Would it kill her to open a freaking window?" Beth muttered to herself, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Man, if she sets off a fire alarm when I'm trying to sleep, I'm—"

Beth trailed off mid-sentence, because at that moment she rounded the corner into the living room and found chaos. The furniture had all been pushed to the edges of the room, leaving an open space in the middle. In the open space was a huge—structure, of some kind. It was made of thick wood beams, arranged in an X shape. The X was slanted at an angle, supported by struts.

All of this went through Beth's mind in a flash, because something else in the room captured her attention. There was a half-naked man in her living room, tied spread-eagled to the wooden X. One eye was swollen and ringed in a nasty shade of maroon. He had a line of blood running from a split lip, as well as bruises on his arms and torso. He appeared to be unconscious, head lolled to one side.

"Holy shit," Beth said.

The man stirred. Then he jerked awake, pulling against his bindings. His eyes locked onto Beth.

"Please!" he said. "You have to help me!"

"Holy _shit_," Beth repeated. She fumbled in her purse for her pocket knife, flipping it open and holding it defensively, as though the beaten-up guy tied to a St. Andrew's cross in the middle of her living room was somehow a threat to _her_. Then a thought struck her, and she relaxed a little.

"Wait. This isn't some sort of a roleplaying thing, is it? 'Cause dude, if it is, you need to break character _right now_ and freaking tell me before I call the cops."

The man looked genuinely taken aback. "What? No. _No_." He shook his head, as though to clear the thought from his mind, then continued, "Please, just help me get out of here."

"Uh... okay, I guess I can do that," she replied shakily, moving towards him. If this wasn't a kinky thing, then Beth couldn't imagine anything approaching a reasonable explanation. She wondered if this could just be a dream. She wasn't sure which possibility would be more disturbing: that she was having a dream vivid enough to make her question reality, or that there was actually a man tied up and bleeding in her living room.

As she started sawing at the ropes around his right wrist with her none-too-sharp knife, she said, "So, uh, you wanna fill me in here? What the hell is going on? Who are you?"

The man chuckled. He appeared to be in surprisingly good humor, given the circumstances. "My name's Sam Winchester. What's yours?"

It hadn't even occurred to her that he might need to know who she is. "Beth—Elisabeth Mossberg."

"It's nice to meet you, Beth," he said. A noise in the hallway drew his attention, and his face grew serious. "Listen, I don't want to scare you, but could you hurry? They could be back any minute."

Beth nodded, moving on to the ropes on his left wrist. "Who's 'they'? Wait—did _Krista_ do this to you?"

"Krista?" Sam asked, craning his neck to look at Beth.

"My roommate," she clarified.

"I don't know, what does she look like?"

"She's, I don't know, average height, pale skin, dyes her hair black. Has the whole old-school goth look going on and likes to tell people she's a witch?"

Sam gave a choking laugh. "Yeah, right."

Beth frowned, but ignored the strange reaction. "So did she do this to you? I mean, I have a hard time imagining her overpowering..." She coughed awkwardly as she realized she had been staring at his fairly impressive musculature. "...Someone your size." She broke through the second rope and hastily crouched to free his ankles, while Sam flexed his arms and rubbed his raw wrists.

"She didn't. But she... uh, she called the people who did. And provided the location, I guess."

"Yeah, that's it," Beth muttered. "I am totally moving out."

~—~

Before long, she had finished cutting Sam loose. He slid off the makeshift cross, wobbling a bit on his feet. Just then, the light in the entryway began to flicker.

"They're here," Sam said, his eyes suddenly wide with panic. "Do you have any salt?"

"Salt? Yeah, in the kitchen, but I don't understand—"

"Grab it. All of it. And hurry."

Beth ran into the kitchen, pulling open the cabinet and grabbing the round container of table salt. For good measure, she also snatched up the salt shaker from the table and ran back into the living room. Something was now rattling the door.

Sam grabbed her by the shoulder. "Where's the bathroom?" he demanded.

"This way."

Sam pulled her into the bathroom and slammed the door behind them. Then he grabbed the salt out of her hands and began pouring it across the door frame.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"This'll keep them out, they can't cross a salt line." He turned and began pouring salt across the windowsill.

A new fear suddenly occurred to Beth. "Oh shit. You're crazy, aren't you? I'm locked in a bathroom with a crazy man."

Sam gripped her shoulders, meeting her eyes with a dead serious expression. "I know how this sounds, but you're going to have to trust me. You know how you said your roommate claimed she was a witch?"

"Yeah, why?" She stared back at Sam. She could feel panic building in her chest. The bathroom light flickered wildly.

"That's because she is one."

"Excuse me?"

"She's a witch, and my brother and I came here looking for her so we could stop her. Only we were too late, and she summoned demons, and now those demons are in your apartment and they're going to try to kill us."

It was just too much. A hysterical laugh escaped her mouth. "And what? Salt is like their kryptonite?"

Sam gave a crooked smile, and in spite of everything she felt her heart skip a beat. "Something like that."

She pulled away from him and slid to the floor. "So you're telling me that witches—like, malevolent, devil-worshiping witches—are real?"

"Yes."

"And magic?"

"Yes."

"And demons?"

"And demons," Sam confirmed.

"And the Loch Ness monster?"

"Well, that one used to be real, until someone killed it. Now it's just a tourist trap."

Beth looked up at Sam and started to laugh. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Honestly, I wish I was. It's a crappy way to find out about all this, but it's all real."

Beth stared at the wall opposite her. After a moment, Sam said gently, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," she replied faintly, still staring at the wall. "Just trying to reorder my entire worldview. It's gonna take a minute."

Sam chuckled. "You're handling it surprisingly well."

She looked at him. "Well..." One hand absent-mindedly went to the cross necklace she was wearing. "If I believe in God and the resurrection and all that, I guess ruling out magic and demons and other impossible shit would be a touch hypocritical."

"That's... not a bad way to look at it, I guess."

Beth took a deep breath. "So how are we going to get out of here? I take it calling the cops isn't an option."

"Yeah, they don't respond well to claims of demon activity." Sam agreed distractedly as he looked around the narrow bathroom. "Okay. The demons can't get in, but they're waiting for us outside. That means we have to fight them."

"Fight them?" Beth asked, incredulous. "They're demons! How do you fight demons?"

Sam pulled open the medicine cabinet and began searching through its contents. "Aha!" he said, holding out his find. "With this."

Beth stared at him. "That's a tube of lipstick."

"Exactly," he replied, grinning. "And I'm going to use it to make a demon trap."


	2. Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter Two ~ Out of the Frying Pan

While Sam drew indecipherable symbols on the bathroom ceiling, Beth had the opportunity to watch him without obviously staring. He was, as she had already noticed, shirtless; now she noted his feet were bare as well. Every part of him she could see was remarkably toned. She swallowed and looked away for a moment, willing herself to have some decorum, before letting herself scrutinize Sam again.

His hair was moderately long, messy around his face, and light brown in color. His features could only be described as "chiseled," but there was a boyish openness about his face as well. He looked to be about her age, maybe 23 or 24. His eyes, focused intently on the lines he was drawing, were a soft green color and deeply intelligent.

Outside, she could hear strange scratching and clicking noises, and the lights continued to flicker. Still, it seemed that Sam had been right about the salt.

With a little hum of satisfaction, Sam dropped the lipstick. He looked over at Beth.

She glanced up at the ceiling. "So... how does this work, exactly?"

"If a demon steps onto or directly under a demon trap, it can't move from that spot. That gives us—well, me—the chance to exorcise it." He looked around the room, giving a short nod of satisfaction. "All right," he continued. "Now the thing is, these demons aren't just going to walk into the trap if we open the door and invite them in. We have to fool them." He met her gaze, his eyes serious. "And I'm going to need your help."

She nodded. "What can I do?"

~—~

A few minutes later, Beth raised her voice. "No, listen, nutjob! I'm done with all this crap about witches and demons and whatever!" She shoved Sam as hard as she could, throwing him up against the bathroom wall.

"You need _help_! You need to check yourself into a psych ward. But I am done listening to this."

"No—" Sam protested. "Don't, you don't understand! You're in danger!"

"No, you're _crazy_!" she shot back. "I'm leaving, and don't you dare try to stop me!"

With that, she threw open the bathroom door, scattering the salt in the process. At the same moment, Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the bathroom, away from the door.

Two demons had been waiting outside. Beth was surprised to see that they looked like normal people—though she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Horns? Cloven hooves? But instead, there were two people: a short, heavy-set, balding man and a tall, elegant woman with deep black hair.

The demons smiled hungrily and stepped forward into the room. Beth felt Sam's grip on her arm tighten. She held her breath.

As the demons moved further into the bathroom, Sam and Beth were forced backwards towards the bathtub. One step... two steps... three steps into the room. Beth couldn't keep herself from glancing up at the ceiling.

The demons were under the trap. Sam grinned. Seeing the glint in his eyes, the two demons stopped suddenly. The woman looked up at the ceiling and swore. "Shit."

The man also looked up. Then he glowered at Sam. "I'll flay the skin from your bones."

"You'd have to reach me, first," Sam replied smugly.

Both demons snarled at that, starting forward in a predatory way that made Beth press herself further against the wall. But it seemed that what Sam had told her was true—the demons couldn't move past the circle traced on the ceiling.

"Sam Winchester," the woman sneered. "The things we've heard about you downstairs."

"Shut up," Sam snapped in response. "I'm not interested in your mind games."

Beth flicked her eyes from the demons to Sam, trying to understand the hidden thread of the conversation. What kind of person would demons know by name, anyway?

Whatever. These were questions for another time. Sam had begun to chant in Latin, and Beth just did her best to stay out of his way in the cramped room.

As Sam spoke in commanding tones, the demons twitched and shook, their movements strange and inhuman. Incoherent sounds of rage came from deep in their chests, but they seemed unable to resist the power in Sam's words.

"Ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus, audi nos!" Sam finished, his voice having risen to a near-shout. Immediately, both demons threw their heads back and billows of black smoke erupted from their mouths. Moments later their bodies crumpled to the ground.

"Damn," Beth breathed.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," Sam said, tugging Beth out of the bathroom, "before more of them show up."

They hurried back through the living room, heading for the door. Beth spotted her purse, abandoned on the floor near the front door. She snatched it up as they went past, and then they were out in the hallway and heading for the stairs.

They tumbled out into the sunshine, the sidewalk filled with people going about their ordinary lives. Beth shook her head in wonder, struck by the fact that just an hour ago, she had been blissfully ignorant of demons and witches and exorcisms.

Sam looked up and down the street, trying to get his bearings.

"So, uh... what now?" Beth asked, hesitantly.

"I have to find my brother. I think the demons got him, too, but they must have taken him somewhere else." He squinted up at the sun. "Better get back to the Impala first," he said to himself.

"Whoa, hang on," Beth said. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. You can't exactly go walking around Minneapolis looking like that." People were staring, she realized.

Sam glanced down as if he had forgotten that he was only half-dressed. "When they grabbed me, they must have taken all my stuff and stashed it somewhere. If I'm lucky, the same place they're keeping Dean."

Beth glanced up the street, thinking. "Here, follow me," she said, heading down the sidewalk. About a block and a half away from her apartment building was a thrift store. There was a sign in the window: "No shirt, no shoes, no service."

"What size shoe do you wear?" she asked Sam.

"What?" He said, confused.

"Shoes." She pointed at his bare feet. "What size?"

"Oh! Uh, twelve."

She raised her eyebrows and laughed. "Wow. Big feet." Before she could stop herself, she joked, "You know what they say about that."

Sam laughed awkwardly. Embarrassed, Beth ducked her head.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," she told him, before stepping into the store.

A few minutes later, she emerged with a shopping bag. She passed it to Sam, who looked inside, his eyebrows quirking in confusion. He reached in and pulled out a black t-shirt and a pair of socks. Underneath them was a shoebox. He peeked inside to see a pair of cheap athletic shoes, size twelve.

"You bought this stuff?"

"Yeah. Fastest way to get you back to normal-looking." She blanched. "I mean, not that you're not—"

Sam laughed, the sound bubbling out of him. "No, I understand. Thank you." He quickly pulled the shirt over his head and sat on the curb to put on the socks and shoes. "Now I've got to go find my brother."

"Wait, wait," Beth said quickly, her breath catching in her throat. "Let me come with you. Please."

"No way," Sam replied. "It is way too dangerous."

Beth inhaled, trying to steady her breathing. "I get that it's dangerous, okay, but where else am I going to go? It's not like I can go home! I've got to be safer with you than back in my apartment waiting for the demons or my satanist roomie to come back."

Sam frowned. "Don't you have any family you can go stay with?"

"My parents live on a lake in _Maine_. Even if I wanted to go all that way, I don't have a car. I'm on my own."

"Then go to a friend's, go to a coffee shop, go to the library! Literally anywhere but with me, I am going into the lion's den, understand?"

Beth felt like she was about to cry. "Look, I'm trying to hold it together here, but I am kind of _freaking out_, and I just... This is too much. There are demons, and—and—what if they follow me? What if Krista comes after me? What do I do if they show up? How am I supposed to know when it's over?" Her breathing hitched again and she had to take a moment before continuing, "I'd rather be with you where we _know_ they are than sitting around on my own hoping more don't find me, okay?"

Sam heaved a sigh, then looked down at Beth and nodded. "All right, you can stick with me until we get this sorted out. Until it's safe."


	3. The Winchester Brothers

Chapter Three ~ The Winchester Brothers

Sam nudged Beth. "This is it, this is the place."

Beth nodded and pulled the "request stop" cord on the bus. The vehicle pulled over to the curb, the doors opening to let passengers off and on. Beth and Sam filed up the aisle and down onto the street.

Further down the block was a shiny black muscle car, towards which Sam immediately headed; presumably, this was The Impala. It looked nothing like the Impala Beth's grandmother used to drive. It was vintage, maybe from the seventies, but in perfect condition, all sleek surfaces and sharp angles. Beth could see her reflection in the waxed black paint. Clearly, somebody loved this car.

Sam went straight to the trunk. He opened it, then lifted up the false floor. Beth couldn't help but gasp at the veritable arsenal contained within. Various guns, most of which she couldn't identify, stakes, knives, machetes... it was overwhelming.

"How much do you know about guns?" Sam asked as he picked up a shotgun and loaded it.

"Uh, don't lock your elbows and don't point it at anything you don't want dead?" Beth offered hesitantly. "I've never actually fired one before."

He chuckled. "Better than nothing, I guess," he said as he handed her the gun. "This is loaded with rock salt. Painful for humans, even more painful for demons, but it won't kill either."

"Okay," she replied, taking a deep breath as she looked over the weapon. "Okay. I can do this. It's just like Half Life 2, right?" She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince—Sam or herself.

"You'll need to undo the safety," he told her, pointing absently with one hand while the other tucked various bits of gear into his pockets. "Alright, here goes," he said as he took his own shotgun out of the trunk. "Follow my lead, and if I tell you to do something, don't ask questions, just do it."

"Yeah, of course," Beth replied as she followed him towards an old storefront. "You're the one who knows what he's doing."

They approached the entrance of the shop. Beth could see signs in a variety of foreign languages—one looked Korean, another Arabic, another Chinese or Japanese, she wasn't sure. In the window over the door, letters painted onto the glass read simply, "Apothecary."

Inside it was dim and musty. The shop seemed oppressively small, crammed to bursting with shelves, row upon row of glass jars full of dried herbs and unidentifiable plants. All around them, bundles of other herbs hung from the ceiling, presumably to dry. Along one wall, Beth spied a collection of elegant little teapots, each with matching cups.

"This way," Sam beckoned towards a back room of the shop, behind the counter with its antique cash register. The back room was smaller still, with boxes stacked along the walls. In the floor, off to one side, there was a trapdoor. There was a rug tossed aside nearby that must have covered it. Sam looked back at Beth, holding a finger over his lips, before carefully lifting the trapdoor open.

~—~

Beneath the trapdoor was a steep old staircase, leading into a short, dark hallway. Beth could see a weak light coming from the left side, suggesting a more open area just out of view.

Moving as quietly as possible, Sam lowered himself down into the basement. Beth followed, cursing silently when a step creaked under her, far too loud in her ears. Sam glanced back and gave her an encouraging half-smile.

They both cautiously peered around the corner. Ahead was a moderately large and mostly empty room, lit by dim incandescent bulbs and candlelight. In the center was another X-shaped cross with another shirtless man tied to it; presumably, this was Dean. Beth grimaced at how bad his condition was, her stomach turning over. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and a laceration over his eye, which was nearly swollen shut. His torso was a mess of bloody streaks and purple bruises, and his breathing was labored.

Standing in front of Dean was a man in a well-tailored suit. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, moderately tall and fit. Beth was guessing he was another demon. As she watched, he backhanded Dean viciously.

"'Munna kill you," Dean slurred through the blood in his mouth.

"Other way around," the man—demon—corrected. He—it—rammed an elbow into Dean's ribs, and an awful groan escaped Dean.

"My associates should be coming back here with baby brother any time, now that he's in no shape to put up a fight," it crooned with a wicked grin, "and then, I'm afraid, it's all over for you."

"I'm unna kill you so much," Dean growled in reply.

"Yeah, good luck with that," replied a female voice dismissively. Beth snapped to attention. She knew that voice.

Distracted by the bloody scene in the center of the room, Beth hadn't noticed Krista leaning up against the shelves along one wall, watching the proceedings with a bored expression. There was also a figure crumpled in the shadowy corner next to her. Beth couldn't get a good look at it, but a gnawing feeling in her gut told her she didn't want to anyway.

Sam's gaze had been flitting around the room, calculating, but now he turned back to her. _Stay here_, he mouthed, and Beth nodded in acknowledgement.

He took a deep breath, cocked his head in a 'here goes,' gesture, then burst around the corner, firing a round square into the center of the demon's back. It roared in pain, and Sam made good use of the distraction, tackling it and pinning it to the floor. He fumbled for his flask of holy water as he began to recite the exorcism incantation.

Krista grabbed a knife from the shelf and turned towards Sam. Moving on instinct more than anything else, Beth stepped into the room and fired at her roommate. The noise was astonishingly loud. The kick slammed the gun back into her shoulder, and her aim was off, catching Krista in the hip instead of the chest, but it was good enough. Krista fell to the ground with a cry of pain. She scrambled at the shelves, trying to pull herself up.

Sam faltered for a split second to look over his shoulder, but then his attention was back on the demon and the exorcism.

Just as black smoke began to pour out of the demon's mouth, Beth heard Krista's voice again. "Hey, bitch," she called, looking straight at Beth. She was holding something small in one hand. Before Beth could make out what it was, pain exploded in her chest. It felt like someone was trying to crush her sternum with a battering ram. She fell to her hands and knees with an involuntary scream, only vaguely registering Krista stumbling past her.

Then, just as suddenly, the pain was gone. Beth knelt, panting. "What the fuck?" she asked no one in particular.

She felt Sam's hand on her shoulder and looked up at him. Her still racing heart leapt a bit. "Hey, you okay?" he asked with genuine concern.

She closed her eyes to focus herself, trying to steady her breath. "Uh, yeah, I think so. Go get your brother, I just need a minute."

Sam didn't have to be told twice, squeezing her shoulder briefly before rushing over to free his sibling. Beth vaguely registered Dean say, "Fucking _witches_, man," as she sat down by the wall, leaning against it as she tried to calm her nerves.

She looked over at the brothers. Sam had already cut through the ropes and was helping Dean slide down into a seated position. For some reason, seeing Sam worrying over his injured brother made Beth's heart leap in her chest, her pulse pounding with something more than adrenaline. She smiled despite herself. It had taken her two, maybe three hours to develop a raging crush on a total stranger. That had to be some sort of a record.

With a groan, she dragged herself to her feet and made her way over to them. "Anything I can do to help?" she offered.

"I got it, thanks," Sam replied, his focus on taking stock of Dean's condition.

"Don't think we've been introduced," Dean said faintly, attempting a winning smile. "Dean Winchester." He weakly lifted a hand, presumably to offer a handshake, but Sam absently swatted it back down.

"Beth Mossberg," she supplied. "Roommate of the witch. Well, ex-roommate, after this."

"Smart choice," Dean replied matter-of-factly. Then he straightened himself up, wincing at the movement. "All right, Sammy, where are we at?"

"Three demons down, but our witch is still on the loose. And you probably have a concussion," Sam said. "We need to regroup before we go after her."

"What, and give her time to summon more backup? No way," Dean argued, using the cross to pull himself to his feet. "Let's go."


	4. Into the Fire

[Author's note: And now the drama begins in earnest. Thanks to those who have followed/favorited/reviewed!]

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Chapter Four ~ Into the Fire

Before the brothers and Beth could go after Krista, they had to get Dean cleaned up at least a little. Leaning on Sam's arm for support, Dean limped over to the far corner of the room, where there was a pile of stuff—clothes, Beth realized, and a duffel bag.

Stiffly, Dean leaned over and searched through the clothes, drawing out a shirt and pulling it over his head. Beside him, Sam pulled aside the duffel bag and found two pairs of boots. He tossed the slightly smaller pair to Dean and sat awkwardly on the concrete to change into his own pair.

Once he was dressed, Dean zipped open the duffel and looked inside. "Good, looks like everything's still here," he said, pulling out a sawed-off shotgun. He peered back into the bag, dug around for a minute, and came up with some kind of necklace. A warm look crossed his face, and he quickly pulled the cord over his head.

Sam straightened up. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Um..." Beth said. The brothers looked at her. "What about him?" She gestured, unwilling to look directly at the crumpled figure near the wall.

Sam's mouth curved in a grimace as he stepped over to it. "Must be the shop's owner. Not much we can do for him now."

Dean headed towards the stairs. "Come on, time's a-wasting."

"You're just going to leave him here?" Beth demanded, shocked.

"Beth, there's nothing we can do," Sam said, firm but kind. "Once we're out of here, we'll call the police and leave an anonymous tip."

"So, what, people die and you just... deal with it?" What kind of people could just shrug off seeing someone die, like it was no big deal? Then it struck her: people who were around death all the time could. Doctors, cops, soldiers... people who were around death so often it became routine. God, what kind of life were these boys living?

"Yeah, pretty much," Dean confirmed. "Come on, let's go."

"Yeah, okay," she agreed faintly. She followed the Winchesters up the stairs and out of the building in a bit of a daze. She had to admit that their logic was right, but that didn't magically give her the ability to mimic their stoicism and detachment.

The sun had nearly set, and as they stepped outside, the cool evening air helped to focus Beth on the present. "So. Back to my place?"

"Yeah, hopefully that's where she'll be," Sam agreed. As they walked towards the car, he nonchalantly grabbed the keys from Dean's hand. "Concussion," he reminded Dean. "I'm driving."

~—~

The Impala pulled to a stop in front of Beth's apartment building, and Sam and Dean were immediately stepping out of the car, Sam giving Dean a serious look and Dean nodding in response. The two hoisted their sawed-off shotguns, and Dean checked the pistol he had tucked into his belt.

More slowly, Beth opened the back door and stepped out. It felt strange to look up at the place she had considered home for several years, and now feel a sense of danger and foreboding.

"All right," Sam said, turning to her. "Whatever we find up there, just stay behind us and do what we say. Got it?"

"Yeah," she said nervously. "Got it."

The brothers exchanged another glance, then headed into the building. "Where're we going?" Dean asked, a predatory growl in his voice.

"Sixth floor," Beth responded. "Apartment 603."

Dean headed for the elevator, but Beth shook her head. "It's out of order. We have to take the stairs, I'm afraid."

Once again, Beth ascended the five flights of stairs up to her apartment, though this was the first time she'd ever done so in the company of two large, heavily armed men.

The apartment door was slightly ajar, as if Krista had been in a hurry. Dean took the lead, pushing the door open with the toe of his boot, holding his gun at the ready.

Cautiously, the three of them made their way into the apartment. The kitchen and living room were empty, but there was a low chanting emanating from the second bedroom—Krista's room. Dean caught Beth's attention and pointed at the ground, mouthing, stay. She nodded her understanding. Then he gestured to Sam with what looked like military hand signals. Sam also nodded, and they slowly approached Krista's room in unison.

In one swift movement, Dean kicked the door open. Beth craned her neck as they rushed forward, trying to see past them into the room. Krista looked up, her face twisted in shock and anger. She was sitting cross-legged in front of a black cloth that was spread out in the center of the room. The corners of the cloth were held down by black candles, and there was a brass bowl in the center, curls of gray smoke lazily rising out of it.

At the sight of Dean and Sam, she surged to her feet. "You! Damn you, it wasn't supposed to happen like this!"

"Hey, just calm down," Sam said, his voice level. "We don't want to hurt you."

"No, actually, we do," Dean corrected harshly.

Sam gave his brother a stern look. To Krista, he continued, "Listen, just stand down. Walk away from this. You don't want to get mixed up with demons—trust me."

Krista glared. "Right, Sam Winchester lecturing me about right and wrong. The demons told me about you, you know."

Sam opened his mouth to say something else, but Dean cut him off. "Enough, Sam. She is way past reasoning with. Time to put her down."

"Dean," Sam hissed, but before he could continue, Krista moved.

She ducked down quickly, grabbing one of the candles from her makeshift altar. As she stood, she reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the object resting there.

Beth felt a sudden hitch in her chest, a tightness that made it hard to breathe. She felt dizzy. Dean and Sam pulled their guns up, training them on Krista.

"The demons gave me strength!" Krista snarled. "They gave me power! I can do whatever I want now!" She brought her hands together, holding the soft object over the flames.

"What the he—" Dean began, but he was cut short when Beth began to scream.

The pain was unbearable, unimaginable. Her legs buckled under her, crippled by searing heat. Distantly, she heard herself screaming, felt her throat grow raw, but any perception of the world around her was eclipsed by the pain.

Sam twitched, jerking around to look at Beth. Dean didn't hesitate. He drew his pistol and fired a round straight into Krista's chest.

Krista collapsed, the candle rolling away from her, the other object still gripped loosely in her fingers. Dean pressed forward, kneeling beside the witch, checking her pulse.

Meanwhile, Sam turned back to Beth. He crouched down beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Beth, hey, you okay? What happened?" Beth just shook her head, unable to speak. She was curled up tight in the fetal position, tears streaming down her face.

"This happened," Dean said sharply, coming back into the hallway. He was holding something, and he passed the item to Sam.

Sam took it, looking down. Beth followed the object with her eyes. It was a doll, limp, made of cloth. It had long brown hair—real hair, Beth realized with growing horror. Her hair.

"What..." she whispered, voice hoarse.

"Hoodoo, right, Sam?"

"Looks like it," Sam confirmed.

"What?" Beth said, more forcefully.

"It looks like this is hoodoo," explained Sam. "Or what pop culture calls a voodoo doll. A lot of cultures have a concept of magical objects that can be used for healing, or harm. Like the Nkondi in central Africa."

Beth's mind reeled as she tried to understand what Sam was saying. "She... she made a voodoo doll? With my hair?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "And when she turned fire on the doll, you felt like you were burning, right?"

Beth just groaned, rolling onto her back and putting her hands over her face. This, she could not deal with. She couldn't even begin to process this in any meaningful way. After a long time, she cleared her throat. "So, uh... what do we do about it? How do we get rid of this thing?"

Sam frowned. "To be honest, I'm not sure. I'm afraid anything we did to destroy the doll would..."

"Would happen to me," she finished, her voice feeling weak.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Dean scowled. Something told Beth he didn't like loose ends.

Sam picked up on his brother's mood. "Dean, we can't just leave her. The job's not done until we take care of this."

Dean turned away, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Well, what are we gonna do? We can't hang around here, the cops are gonna be be sniffing around in no time."

"We could take her to the Roadhouse," Sam suggested. "Talk to Ellen, maybe give Bobby a call. Somebody has to know something."

"Yeah, all right," Dean replied. He turned his attention back to Beth. "Pack a bag, we're leaving."


	5. The Roadhouse

Chapter Five ~ The Roadhouse

Beth stared out the window of the Impala as the car slowed, coming to a stop in front of a motel in a small town somewhere in southern Minnesota. It was late, but Dean had been adamant they they get out of Minneapolis as soon as possible. Considering they were leaving behind multiple dead bodies, Beth could understand why.

She looked down at her lap, where the doll was resting lightly against her legs. It was hardly more than a collection of rags, scraps of cotton tied together into a rough human form, with the basic shapes of a face painted on and hair—her own hair—sewn into the top of the head.

She had cradled it as they left the city, feeling how every jostle made her head spin, every pressure was mirrored in her own body. This rag doll was a weapon, a weapon designed specifically to hurt her alone. And now she had to protect it in order to protect herself.

Dean and Sam were getting out of the car, stretching stiff muscles. Sam went around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and pulling out a duffel bag.

Beth tucked the doll carefully into the pocket of her coat before opening the door and stepping out. She followed the brothers into the motel office, where a middle-aged man was staring at a tiny television set, looking bored.

"Hey, man," Dean said by way of introduction. "We're looking to get two rooms for the night. Adjacent, if you've got 'em."

The front desk worker looked over Sam and Dean, raising his eyebrows at their bruised and bloody condition. "Fight club," Dean joked with a grin, and the man rolled his eyes, clearly not interested.

"I can pay for my own room," Beth said to Sam, quietly. She reached into her purse to pull out her wallet.

Dean glanced back at her. "Nah, we've got it." He turned back to the man, smiling and sliding a card across the counter.

The man handed Dean two keys. "Twenty-two and twenty-four. Make a right when you leave the office, then go up the first staircase." He swiped the card, then passed it back to Dean. "There you go, Mr. Sargsyan."

Beth stiffened. Sam glanced down at her wide-eyed expression, and immediately took her by the elbow and headed for the door. Dean followed, tipping his head at the motel employee in thanks.

When they were out of earshot, heading for the stairs, Beth hissed, "Credit card fraud?"

"Beth," Sam began patiently.

"Listen," Dean interrupted, his tone sharp. "What we do, hunting witches and demons and all that crap, it's not a paying gig, okay? Nobody pays us to hunt monsters, so we do what we have to to get by. And I don't want to hear a lecture about it from some... civilian!"

Beth looked away. "Sorry," she mumbled. Mercifully, they had arrived at their rooms.

Sam sighed. Trying to be conciliatory, he said, "Listen, we're all tired, let's just get some rest."

Dean nodded, his jaw tight. He thrust the second key into Beth's hand, then turned and opened the door to his own room. He went inside without a backward glance.

Sam gave an apologetic shrug. "Don't mind him," he told her. "We'll all feel better in the morning."

She nodded.

"We'll be right next door, okay? If anything happens, just give a shout."

She nodded again. "Will do. Thanks, Sam."

Exhaustion caught up with her as she turned the key in the lock and entered her room. It was about as dank and depressing as she had expected for a no-name motel. She tried not to think about how clean (or not-so-clean) the sheets were as she sat wearily on the bed.

She pulled the doll out of her pocket and laid it on the nightstand. Then she pulled out her cell phone and stared down at the screen. She felt an urge to call her parents, but what would she say? Hi Mom, hi Dad, how was your day? My roommate turned out to be a witch and tried to kill me, but these guys I met shot her, so...

With a smile that felt more like a grimace, she put the phone down next to the doll. Then she pulled back the covers on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and laid down, turning off the light and settling into the lonely darkness.

~—~

The next morning, Sam greeted her with a knock on her door and handed her a cup of coffee. "Come on," he said with a smile, "Dean's got the car loaded up, we're ready to head out."

"Okay, let me grab my stuff." Beth had by no means unpacked, but she had a few toiletries she needed to put away. As she stuffed them into her bag, she said, "Hey, I don't think I ever thanked you. You've saved my life, what, twice now?"

"It's kinda my job," he deflected with a shy smile.

"Only kind of, if you're not getting paid," she pointed out, zipping her bag and sweeping her eyes around the room one last time. "But seriously, I owe you. Dean, too."

"Well, you're welcome," he replied.

"So, speaking of," Beth began cautiously as she hoisted her bag and headed for the doorway, "Is Dean still pissed at me?"

Sam sighed as they made their way down the hallway. "He's not pissed, just cranky. He prefers it when jobs are simple. You know, get in, kill the monster, get out."

She nodded, but continued, "I know I kinda put my foot in my mouth last night."

"It's really not a big deal. He'll get over it."

"If you say so," she replied as they stepped out into the morning light.

They got on the interstate, heading south into Iowa and then west, towards Nebraska. The miles ticked away beneath them in relatively peaceful quiet. At times, Dean would drum his hands on the steering wheel in time to the music—all classic rock—sometimes breaking out and singing along, grinning at Sam, until he glanced in the rearview mirror and remembered Beth was there. Then he would lapse into silence again, eyes firmly on the road.

Beth tucked herself up against the door, watching the scenery go by, wondering what kind of place they were headed towards.

~—~

The Impala pulled to a stop in a dirt parking lot. The building in front of them wasn't exactly the most attractive thing Beth had ever seen. It was covered with worn wooden siding with a roof of dusty corrugated tin. A large sign over the entrance read Harvelle's Roadhouse, with 'Harvelle's' set in neon lettering and the word 'Roadhouse' studded with light bulbs. Out front was an ice chest, a couple of empty kegs, and a couple of lawn chairs. Beth had to admit, she'd never go near a place that looked like this on her own.

The Winchesters pushed open the door and walked inside, Beth following. The sudden transition from the bright sunshine outside to the dim interior left her momentarily blinded. She could smell beer and cigarettes and sweat. The first things she could make out were neon signs on the walls, logos for a variety of beers. Soon, she picked out a long bar on one side and tables on the other. In the back of the room was a pool table, raised a few steps from the rest of the bar. The place seemed deserted, but that was probably because it was mid-afternoon on a weekday.

"Dean, Sam, good to see you," a woman called warmly as she walked around the bar. When she noticed Beth, she stopped short. Her sharp eyes flicked from Beth to the brothers and back again. "Honey, how did you get mixed up with these two? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"You could say that," Sam answered for her.

"Well, have a seat, tell me all about it."

Sam and Dean moved easily to the bar, taking up two stools. Beth followed a step behind, slipping in beside Sam. There was something sticky on the bartop, and she rubbed her fingers together in an attempt to banish the sensation.

Dean and Sam seemed relaxed and comfortable in the presence of this woman. She had stepped back behind the bar and was wiping down pint glasses. Once they were settled, she gave the boys a look. "Well, are you going to introduce me, or what?"

"Uh, sorry," Sam said with a smile. "Ellen, this is Beth Mossberg. Beth, Ellen Harvelle."

"Pleasure to meet you," Ellen said, putting down her dishcloth and holding out a hand.

Beth shook it, impressed by the strength of Ellen's grip. "Good to meet you, too."

Ellen reached into a refrigerator below the bar and pulled out two beers. Dean and Sam cracked them open immediately. Ellen raised a questioning eyebrow at Beth, but Beth shook her head.

"So what on earth are you doing running around with the Winchesters?" Ellen asked, taking up the rag again.

Right to business, then. Beth glanced at Sam, not sure where to begin.

"Show her," he encouraged. "It's okay, you can trust Ellen."

Beth nodded, then swallowed. Gingerly, she reached into her pocket where the doll had been resting and brought it out.

Ellen's eyes widened slightly, but her mouth kept the same firm line. "Hoodoo doll?" she asked.

"Yep," Dean said. "We killed the witch that made it, but we don't know what to do with the doll."

"We aren't sure whether we can do anything with it without hurting Beth," Sam added.

Ellen gave a low whistle and shook her head. "That is some bad mojo."

"So you don't know how we can, you know, flip the off switch?" Dean asked.

Ellen thought about it. "Not offhand, but I ain't actually a hunter, remember? We can make some calls, somebody will know something."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's what we figured. Maybe Bobby will have some ideas."

Beth had been following their conversation quietly. Now she spoke up. "So, uh, not to look a whole team of gift horses in the mouth, but do we have any idea how long this is going to take?"

"I'm not sure," Sam admitted. "But we'll figure it out, I promise."

Beth's face warmed at the kindness in his tone, but anxiety still tightened her chest. "I guess I just feel like I'm sitting on a time bomb, here, you know?" She forced a nervous smile.

"Don't you worry," Ellen said, voice firm but gentle. "You can hole up here long as you need to. We'll get you taken care of."

Beth was struck by the unexpected generosity. "Thank you," she whispered.

There was kindness in Ellen's eyes. "Of course. Come on, I'll get you set up right now. Then you won't have to be worrying about it."

With that, Ellen jerked her head to indicate that Beth should follow her. Beth slid off the bar stool, grabbed her bag from the floor where she had dropped it, and picked up the doll with her free hand. She gave Sam and Dean a quick smile. Sam smiled back, while Dean just raised his beer to his lips.

Ellen led Beth around the back of the bar area and down a hallway. On the right, a swinging door led into a kitchen. On the other side was a staircase leading down into a basement. Ellen led her past both of these. Past the staircase to the basement, the hallway turned to the left. There were several doors along this stretch, and the area seemed quieter, more private.

Ellen gestured at the first door. "This's my room, closest to the bar. Lets me keep an eye on things." The next door was open, and Beth could see a bathroom—not a bar bathroom with stalls or urinals, but a proper bathroom with a sink and tub. There was a decorative strip of wallpaper near the ceiling, and dried flowers in a vase on the back of the toilet.

Ellen led the way to a room at the corner of the building, opening the door and ushering Beth inside. "This is my daughter's room, but you can use it for the time being."

Beth stepped cautiously into the space. There was a twin bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a bookshelf. It was all very neat. The bedspread was a patchwork quilt, its bright colors faded by time. The room had two large windows that let in the sunshine.

Beth looked at the dresser. There were photographs on it: one with a younger-looking Ellen, a little blonde girl, and a man, presumably Ellen's husband. The other was a portrait of a pretty young woman with fine features and long blonde hair. She was wearing a wide smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Is this your daughter?" Beth asked.

"That's my Jo," Ellen confirmed. "My baby girl."

"Where is she?" Beth said, then caught herself. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"It's all right. She's in Duluth, working. Wanted to get out from under my thumb, I think." Ellen gave a wry smile. "In any case, the room's not being used, and you're welcome to it for as long as you need."

Beth smiled back gratefully. "Thank you so much, Ellen, I really appreciate this. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help out while I'm here."

"I'm sure I will. Now let's go back and check on the boys. I'll get you a drink, you want a beer?"

"Scotch?" Beth said hopefully.

Ellen threw back her head and laughed. "Woman after my own heart."


	6. To Missouri

Chapter Six ~ To Missouri

When Beth and Ellen returned to the bar, Dean was on the phone. "What? No, of course not. It's a girl we picked up on our last job. You know how to destroy the thing or not? ... Great," he said sarcastically. "Well, keep digging, all right? ... Okay, yeah, we'll give it a shot. ... Yeah. Thanks, Bobby." He flipped the phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket. "Bobby doesn't know how to get rid of the doll offhand, but he's looking into it. In the meantime, he suggested we go see a psychic."

"Missouri's only a few hours from here," Sam suggested. Beth's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she retook her seat. She guessed they must know a psychic somewhere in Missouri? Oh well. Someone would fill her in eventually, and she was getting sick of being the girl who was always asking questions.

Dean seemed particularly irritable over the suggestion, but he responded, "All right, fine. We'll head down there tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I need another beer." He beckoned to Ellen, who was in the process of pouring Beth her scotch.

"In a minute," she told Dean as she passed Beth the glass. "There you go, hon."

"Excellent, thanks," Beth replied, taking a sip and smiling with satisfaction.

"Hola, amigos," drawled a voice from off to the left. Stepping through the doorway by the kitchen was quite possibly the biggest redneck Beth had ever seen. He had a blonde mullet and was wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off. He blinked groggily as he strolled up to the bar, giving Beth the impression that he'd only just woken up.

"That would be Ash," Ellen said as she handed Dean his beer. "Ash, this is Beth, she's gonna be staying here for awhile."

Ash nodded towards Beth in acknowledgement, sauntering over to the bar. Ellen passed him a PBR and he cracked it open with evident pleasure.

"How's it goin', Ash?" Dean asked.

"Oh, you know, you know. 'S going."

"Hey, did you happen to find anything else out about that..." Sam hesitated, glancing at Beth. "That job you were helping us with?"

"What, that demon of yours and his psychic kids?" Ash said. Beth's eyebrows shot up.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, looking uncomfortable.

"Naw, man, haven't found any other patterns. Sorry."

"Yeah. Thanks anyway." Sam stood abruptly. "Listen, I'm pretty beat, I think I'm gonna turn in."

"Everything okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, and Beth saw a flash of concern in his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. We should get an early start tomorrow."

"All right, yeah," his brother agreed. "I'm gonna stay here and toss back a few more with Ellen and Ash."

"You know we've got a room made up for you boys," Ellen told Sam, and he nodded in thanks. Beth followed him with her eyes as he left the bar.

"Is something wrong?" she asked Ellen.

"Almost always," Ellen replied with a crooked smile. "Nothin' you need to worry about."

As the evening wore on, the bar slowly filled with people. Beth watched as Ellen made her way around to the tables, delivering drinks to the patrons. She seemed to know everyone—not just their names, but their stories, their work. She asked questions, murmured sympathies, cracked jokes.

"They're almost all hunters," Ash drawled from his seat at the bar. When Beth realized he had been speaking to her, she turned to look at him.

"Sorry?"

"Hunters, you know. Like the Winchesters." He nodded over at Dean, who had struck up a game of pool with one of the other men in the bar.

"I'm guessing you don't mean game hunting," Beth said.

"No, I do not," he confirmed. "I mean monster hunting, demon hunting. Huntin' the things that go _bump_ in the night."

"And there's like... a whole community of hunters? They all know each other?"

"They all have connections. People you can trust, people you can rely on for information or to watch your back."

"So the Roadhouse is like, a safe house?"

"Yeah, you could put it that way."

Beth nodded, mulling over what Ash had said. She thought about 'that demon of yours and his psychic kids,' wondering what _that_ could mean and why Sam was so uncomfortable about it. Then she glanced back at Dean. "Hey," she said to Ash in a lowered voice, "so is it common for demons to know hunters by name?"

Ash followed her gaze. "If the hunters in question are the Winchesters, then yeah, it's pretty common."

"Why?" Beth asked. "Are they—I mean, it seems like they're mixed up in some pretty bad shit."

Ash nodded. "Yep, 'bout the worst kind you could imagine."

"Is it like that for all hunters?"

He mulled over the question, eyes roaming slowly over the bar. "Huntin' is not an easy going lifestyle," he said finally. "There's a reason things are called _monsters_. But some hunters just deal with monsters, and some hunters deal with the monsters behind the monsters, you get what I'm saying?"

"So Sam and Dean..."

"Those boys have a knack for getting themselves into the middle of every awful thing that comes up," Ellen said. Beth hadn't realized the other woman had come back to the bar.

"Yeah," she said. "Sounds like it."

"Listen to me, hon. I like the Winchesters. They've got a hell of a lot more honor than most hunters who come through here. But they are trouble, you hear? They are a locomotive full of trouble, and you do not want to get on board."

Beth leaned back, surprised by the fierceness in Ellen's voice.

"Take my advice: as soon as you get your problem sorted out, you put as much ground between yourself and those boys as possible."

Beth thought of Sam's open smile and found Ellen's suggestion hard to accept. "Yeah, thanks, Ellen," she said, pushing back from the bar. "I think I'll go get ready for bed. Nice to meet you, Ash," she said as she passed him.

"Mmhm," he responded, reaching for another beer.

~—~

They left not long after dawn the next morning. As they walked out to the car, Beth finally broke down and asked, "So where are we going?"

"Lawrence, Kansas," Dean replied, and Beth thought she heard a trace of bitterness in his voice.

"Wait, last night, didn't you say something about Missouri?" she asked as she settled herself in the back seat.

"That's her name," Sam clarified. "Missouri Moseley. She's... sort of an old family friend."

"Ah," Beth said because she didn't have a better response. She wasn't sure whether to feel stupid about the assumption or not. Wearily, she leaned against the door, pillowing her head on her arm. These car rides didn't exactly lend themselves to casual conversation, so she might as well try to get some more sleep.

~—~

"Wakey wakey," came Dean's voice, drawing Beth out of her shallow sleep in the back seat. She sat up groggily. They were just pulling up outside a quaint two story house. A sign outside in simple, handpainted letters read, _Missouri Moseley, Psychic_.

The three of them got out of the car, stretching after the long drive. Then Sam led the way up the steps of the front porch. He knocked on the door.

A few moments later, a large, kind-eyed woman opened it. "Boys," she welcomed. Her voice was soft and slightly lilting. "Didn't I tell you to keep in touch? I can tell you're only here for work," she scolded.

Sam smiled fondly. "Yeah, sorry, Missouri, you know we're not in town much."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled. "So, you wanna tell me what this is about?" Then she noticed Beth, and her gaze softened. "Oh, you poor thing. A hoodoo doll?"

"How—" Beth began, but then caught herself and chuckled. "Of course. Psychic."

"Oh, she's smarter than you two!" Missouri teased the boys with a mirthful laugh, then stepped back, beckoning them all inside. "Well come on, already."

She led them through the waiting room that was set up just inside the front door, past a beaded curtain and into the small living room. "Please, sit," she told them.

As the three of them settled themselves on the couch, Missouri took a seat in the armchair opposite. "I heard about your father," she said, "I am so sorry."

"Thanks," Sam replied hesitantly. He looked deeply uncomfortable discussing the subject, at least in front of Beth. Dean remained silent, looking out the window stiffly. She couldn't exactly blame them—their family situation was none of her business. She resolutely pushed down any curiosity on the subject.

Just as she was debating whether to try to change the subject herself or just stay out of it, Missouri turned to her. "It's Beth, right? You have the doll?" The timing was so perfect, Beth had to wonder if Missouri had been listening in on her internal monologue.

"Uh, yeah," Beth replied, carefully producing it from her pocket. For a moment, her instincts told her not to let anyone else touch it.

"It's okay, dear, I'm not gonna do anything to you," Missouri reassured.

Beth smiled. Missouri _must_ have been listening in. Gingerly, she passed the doll to the other woman.

Missouri carefully turned the doll over in her hands, nodding to herself as she examined it. Beth did her best to ignore the sudden rush of vertigo.

"So... can you break the spell?" Beth asked, hesitantly.

"Mmm," Missouri hummed. After a long, thoughtful silence, she met Beth's eyes. "No, I don't think I can."

Beth closed her eyes wearily, shot through with disappointment.

"I'm sorry, dear. This is powerful, fierce magic, and it's tied right to you. We can't 'kill' the doll without risking you."

"But maybe there's something else we could do?" Sam guessed.

Missouri nodded. "Yes, I believe there is. I can, ah, put the doll to sleep, in a sense. Sink the magic down, where it's not so strong. It would still be connected to you, Beth, but more weakly."

"What would that mean?" Beth asked. "Could it still hurt me?"

"It could," Missouri confirmed. "But what you're feeling now, every touch on the doll, every movement, that would go away. It wouldn't bother you as much."

"That's the best you can do, Missouri?" Beth was surprised to hear Dean asking. She didn't think he cared much what happened to her. Maybe he just wanted the whole thing to be finished.

"I'm afraid so. But it will help. Once we put the doll to sleep, you can store it somewhere safe, keep it out of the wrong hands."

Three pairs of eyes turned to Beth. She looked down at the doll in Missouri's hands. "Well," she said, "At least it's something, right?" She offered up a weak smile. "Let's give it a shot."

Missouri nodded. "I'll just need a few things," she said kindly. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Beth tapped her foot nervously in the silence that followed. She met Sam's eyes and gave him a tight smile, which he returned with an easier one of his own. Dean turned and looked out the window again.

Missouri returned with a clay bowl, which she set on the coffee table. Inside it was a bundle of something, Beth thought it might be sage. Whatever it was, it was burning slowly, fragrant smoke curling up out of the bowl.

"Come stand here, sweetie," Missouri said, gesturing to the opposite side of the coffee table. Beth complied, and the two women stood face-to-face over the bowl. Sam and Dean looked on from the couch. Missouri held the doll out, in the haze of smoke, and Beth felt a wave of weariness wash over her.

Looking like she was mediating or deep in thought, Missouri bowed her head and closed her eyes. Beth could feel a power in the room, a strange energy enveloping her. Her head spun.

The next thing she knew, someone was gently shaking her. "Beth? Beth."

Beth opened her eyes and found herself gazing into Sam's face. Her heart squeezed at the concerned look in his eyes.

"What happened?" she said groggily. She was slumped on the edge of the couch awkwardly. Sam's arm was wrapped around her shoulders, supporting her body weight. She felt like she had been dragged out of a deep, deep sleep.

"It's done now," Missouri told her, passing her the doll. "It's sleeping, and you're not quite as connected to it as you were."

Beth nodded, sitting up straighter. She didn't exactly mind the way Sam was holding her, but he moved back when he saw she could support herself. "Thanks, Missouri," she said.

"You're welcome. But remember, you still need to keep this doll safe. Don't let it fall into the wrong hands, you hear?"

She nodded. "I won't."

Missouri looked Beth over with kind eyes. "It'll be all right," Missouri said. "Don't you worry."

Then she turned her attention back to the Winchesters. "As for you two, you better stay in touch this time, like you promised."


	7. Juju Box

Chapter Seven ~ Juju Box

The Winchesters were not the type to wait around, as Beth was discovering. Nor did they seem reluctant to undertake major road trips. As soon as they were done at Missouri's, they were back on the road and headed for the Roadhouse.

They arrived not long after dusk that evening. The Roadhouse was hardly full, but there were several tables with patrons—hunters, Beth guessed—sitting alone or in twos or threes. The atmosphere was relaxed.

"Hey, glad you're back," Ellen called out. They made their way over to the bar, where Ellen was already breaking out beers for Sam and Dean. Ash raised his own drink in greeting from where he slouched against the end of the bar.

"How'd it go?" Ellen asked when Beth was settled on her bar stool.

"Okay," Beth said noncommittally.

"Just okay?" Ellen replied.

"Missouri couldn't break the curse," Dean explained bluntly.

"She did help, though," Beth hurried to add. "She kind of... put the doll to sleep. I'll still feel anything major, but all the little bumps and jolts are gone." The doll was still dangerous, but it was incredible how much better she felt without all the dizziness and vertigo. She hadn't really realized how bad it had been until it was gone.

"Well, any improvement's something with hoodoo like that," Ellen replied. "It's a start, right?"

"True story," agreed Beth. "Not sure what else we can do now, though."

Ellen nodded sympathetically. She set about pouring Beth a scotch.

"We'll figure it out," Sam assured her.

She smiled at him. "I know." She was in fairly good spirits. She could tell it was going to take a while to get everything sorted out, but she wasn't so scared anymore. She felt safe around Ellen and the brothers, and she knew things could have been a lot worse. Her smile broadened as she took a sip of her drink.

~—~

The next morning, there was a knock at the bathroom door just as Beth was stepping out of the shower. "Beth?" It was Ellen.

"Yeah, I'm nearly done in here," she called back.

"No hurry, I'm just makin' some breakfast and wanted to see how you like your eggs."

"Scrambled would be great, thanks," Beth replied. "I'll be out in a minute."

There was a grunt of acknowledgement and Beth heard Ellen's receding footsteps.

Beth toweled off, pulled on her jeans and a t-shirt, then stopped to examine her face in the mirror. It was a round face, framed by straight brown hair that she parted in the middle. Her brown eyes, usually shadowed with weariness from late nights at work, were bright with enthusiasm. She gave herself a crooked smile. It was strange to feel so happy, considering everything that had happened to her.

She went out to the front room. Ellen was just coming out of the kitchen, carrying a heavy tray with practiced ease. Ellen made her way over to a table where Sam was already waiting.

Beth slid into the chair next to Sam's, accepting a heaping plate of food from Ellen. Her mouth watered at the sight of the meal.

"Good morning," Sam said cheerfully.

"Morning," Beth replied as she swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "Where's Dean?"

"Still asleep," Sam responded. "He's... not a morning person."

Ellen chucked. "That's an understatement."

They ate in companionable silence for a while. When Ellen had finished, she stood and started clearing the table.

"I can help with that," Beth offered.

"Don't worry about it, I'll get this cleaned up."

Ellen disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Beth and Sam alone at the table.

"So..." Beth began, not really knowing what to say. She flushed.

Sam gave her a quizzical look. When she didn't continue, Sam said, "Tell me about yourself, Beth. What did you do before—?"

"Before I got caught up in all of this?" Beth clarified with a chuckle. "Computer stuff. I was a sysadmin at a small company."

"Huh," Sam said. "You'll have to talk to Ash. Believe it or not, he's actually a computer genius."

"Seriously?" she asked. She didn't know whether to be skeptical or impressed.

"Yeah. He's incredible."

Beth took a minute to process that revelation. After a while, she asked, "So what about you? How'd you end up becoming a hunter?"

"I grew up in it," Sam said. His tone was conversational, but there was a flicker of regret in his eyes. "My dad—" He paused for a moment to clear his throat. "My dad was a hunter. Raised me and Dean on the road, travelling around killing monsters."

"Wow," she said. "That sounds... rough."

"Yeah, well..." Sam shrugged. "For a long time, I really wanted out. I actually did get away from it, for a while. I went to college, was planning on going to law school, but... The thing is, once you know about... well, everything, all the stuff that's really out there, there's no going back. Seems like, sooner or later, something always drags you back in."

Beth looked up at Sam. He was staring at the table, a faraway look in his eyes. Hesitantly, Beth reached out and put a comforting hand on his arm.

At that, Sam looked up at her. "That's life, I guess," he said with a feeble attempt at a smile.

"Where's your dad now?" Beth asked without thinking.

Sam grimaced. "He's gone. He... passed away, about a year ago."

"I'm sorry," Beth said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay," Sam told her. "But yeah, it's just me and Dean now." He seemed eager to change the subject, so he continued, "What about your family?"

"Well, like I said before, my parents live in Maine. They were already pretty old when they had me, so they're retired now. Just living the quiet life."

"Sounds nice," Sam said politely. "Any siblings?"

"No, I'm an only child. I kind of wish I had had a sibling, though. It was kind of lonely, growing up." Now it was Beth's turn to be introspective. "It must be nice, having a brother like Dean. He seems to really care about you."

"He does," Sam agreed. "Family's always been important to us. I'd do anything for Dean, and I know he'd do the same for me."

"I can tell."

Sam's smile was bright and genuine, but before he could say anything else, they heard ambling footsteps.

"Hey Ellen, coffee?" came Dean's voice from the kitchen. A minute later he emerged from the hallway, bleary eyed with mug in hand.

"You're up," Sam said with mild surprise.

"Yeah, Bobby called," Dean replied, easing himself down into the seat next to Sam. "Still nothing on the defusing-the-doll front, but he's gonna make a curse box for it for in the meantime."

"Curse box?" Beth asked.

"It's like a lockbox for a magical or cursed item," Dean explained. "Keeps all the nasty mojo in."

"Handy," she remarked.

"So when does he want us to head up there?" Sam asked.

"Making the box won't take him all that long, he says we should head out. It'll be done by the time we get there."

Sam nodded and pushed back from the table. "Let's get going, then."

~—~

Bobby, Beth learned in the car, was a friend of Sam and Dean's. From the warm way they spoke about him, she gathered he was a close friend. A part of the family, in spirit if not in blood. He lived in South Dakota where he kept a salvage yard and a house full of hunting resources.

They rolled up to the Singer Salvage Yard early in the afternoon. They could have arrived sooner, but Dean insisted on stopping for lunch. Beth had never met anyone so passionate about cheeseburgers. Sam had just rolled his eyes and ordered a salad.

The salvage yard itself was a mess with wrecked cars. It seemed less like a salvage operation and more like a graveyard for dead vehicles. At the heart of it all was a run-down house that seemed to sag on its foundations, though it was probably once quite charming. The Winchesters went straight to the front door without hesitation.

In response to their knock, a grizzled old man in a baseball cap and a flannel shirt came to meet them. "'Bout time you got here," he said without preamble. "Finished your box two hours ago."

"Hey Bobby," Dean said with a grin.

Bobby gave the boys a familiar nod, then turned his attention to Beth. "You must be the girl with the hoodoo problem."

"Yeah, that's me," she replied. "I heard you can help."

Bobby stepped back to let them in. "Well, I haven't figured a way to turn the thing off, but a curse box'll keep it safe, at least."

"Bobby's an expert at this kind of thing," Sam told Beth as they went into a living room piled high with books. "He knows all about hoodoo, monsters, all of it."

"Well, I appreciate the help," Beth said sincerely.

"Sure, don't sweat it," Bobby told her, and she found herself warming to his gruff nature.

Bobby went around the back of a desk that dominated one side of the living room and sat. The other three gathered around, and Bobby pulled a box out of one of the desk drawers. It looked like a basic black metal lockbox, but nearly every surface had been painted with symbols.

"Here it is," Bobby said. "You just put the doll in there, lock it up, and make sure to keep track of the key."

"That's it?" Beth asked. "No spells or incantations or herbs or anything?"

"That's it," he confirmed. "These symbols are for warding and protecting. They'll work as long as the doll stays in the box."

"Okay, then," Beth said. She took a steadying breath and drew the doll from its place in her pocket. Bobby held the box open for her, and she could see the inside had been lined with fabric. It was comforting, somehow.

She laid the doll into its little box. Bobby snapped the box shut, turned the key in the lock, and handed both over to her. "There you go."

"Thanks," she said. "That was surprisingly easy." She made a mental note to get a cord or chain once she got back to the Roadhouse so that she could wear the key around her neck.

Beth looked over at Sam and Dean, wondering if they were going to drive straight back to the Roadhouse like they had after visiting Missouri.

As if he sensed her question, Bobby said, "You boys ain't planning to leave right away, are you?"

Dean shrugged. "I thought we'd stick around tonight, go back to the Roadhouse tomorrow. I need to get some work done on the Impala, anyway."

Bobby snorted. "You buff that car too many times, you'll wear a hole right through the hood." Then he stood up and headed into the kitchen adjoining the living room. "Come on, I'll get you some beer."


	8. Cars and Guns

Chapter Eight ~ Cars and Guns

Beth trailed behind as Bobby went into the kitchen, loaded half a dozen beers into a cooler, and handed it to Dean. With a nod of thanks, Dean took the cooler and headed out into the yard.

Behind her, Sam was flipping avidly through one of the books on Bobby's desk. "Hey Bobby," he called, "Where did you _get_ this? It looks like it's about a thousand years old."

"Prob'ly older," Bobby grunted, walking back into the living room.

Beth looked into the living room, then back at the door. As much as she felt drawn to Sam, she saw an opportunity to get to know his brother better. She headed out the door into the yard.

"Need any help?" she asked.

Dean was on his back under the car. He wriggled out and squinted up at her. "You know about cars?"

"Just a little, but I'm pretty handy. And it is a sweet car."

Dean grinned. "Isn't she?" He straightened up and looked Beth over, as though considering what he saw. "All right, come here."

Beth stepped over to the Impala, crouching down as Dean slid his torso back under the car. "Give me that oil filter, would you?" he asked. A few minutes passed in silence.

"So," Dean's voice came from under the car. "Where do you go from here?"

Beth considered the question. "I'm not sure. It sounds like maybe there's still a chance to break the spell, so that would be the best outcome. In the meantime, Ellen seems okay with letting me stay at the Roadhouse."

"Hand me that wrench." Beth did. "And if we can't break it? What do you do if you're stuck with this thing?"

"Keep it safe, I guess." She leaned back against the side of the Impala. "I can't really imagine going back to Minneapolis now. Maybe I could go stay with my parents for a while..."

"You gotta be careful about that," Dean cautioned. "You know what's out there, now. It's dangerous, and you could put your family in danger, too."

Beth chuckled darkly. "Yeah, I was kind of afraid of that. Sam mentioned earlier that you can't really get away from this stuff. I guess I have to just... work with it, you know? Learn to protect myself and just... find the best balance I can between vigilance and normalcy."

"Huh," Dean said pensively. He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I guess that's all you can do."

They lapsed into silence, but Beth felt as though something had shifted between them. The quiet was friendly. She raised her face towards the afternoon sun and smiled.

~—~

"Yeah, thanks again." Bobby's gruff voice floated into the living room from the front door, where he was tipping the pizza guy. A moment later, he was setting two pizzas down on the desk, while Sam popped open enough beers for all of them.

"Dig in," Bobby told them. That was all the encouragement needed to get the meal started.

"This is a hell of a library you've got," Beth commented between bites, genuinely impressed by the volume of books stacked everywhere. "It's all on magic and demons and the like?"

"Nah, Bobby's got books on everything," Dean corrected. "If it exists—and, you know, most people think it doesn't—there's probably something around here about how to kill it."

"Well, the things you _can_ kill," Bobby said. To Beth, he explained, "There are a few out there that you can't."

"What all is out there?" she asked. She was genuinely curious.

"Well," Dean said, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the desk. "You've already met demons and witches. There's also ghosts, vamps, werewolves, monsters from just about every culture on Earth, pagan gods... the better question is probably what isn't real."

"Huh," Beth said. "Good to know. And you guys hunt all that stuff?"

"That's what we do," Dean confirmed.

"You seem awfully laid back about all this," Sam observed.

"Man, I'm tired of being shocked all the time. So monsters are real, there's no sense making a bunch of drama about it." After a moment, she added, "Although I have to admit, having a little booze in my system probably helps."

Bobby gave a snort of a laugh. "I think I like you," he said.

She flashed a grin. "The feeling's mutual."

~—~

Beth stayed up late that night with Bobby and the Winchesters, drinking beer and talking. The men reminisced about old hunts, laughing over close calls and making fun of one another's mistakes. Beth just took it all in, enjoying the camaraderie.

She crashed on the couch that night. When she was woken by a hand on her shoulder, the sun was already streaming into the room.

"Rise and shine," Dean said. "Time to hit the road."

Beth gave a slight groan as she rolled off the couch and onto her feet. "What time is it?"

"Ten-thirty," Sam said, coming in from the kitchen. "You want some coffee?"

"Nah, I'm okay," she replied. "I'll probably just sleep in the car, anyway."

Bobby appeared to say goodbye, giving each of the Winchesters a warm hug and a slap on the back. He turned to Beth with a crooked smile. "Take care of yerself, y'hear? Don't let these boys get you into trouble."

"I'll do my best," Beth promised.

"I'll call if I find anything about breaking that spell," Bobby told her.

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

And with that, they loaded up the car were on their way back to Nebraska.

~—~

That afternoon, back at the Roadhouse, Sam and Beth were sitting side-by-side at the bar, chatting with Ellen. Dean had gone off on a supply run, and Ash was nowhere to be seen.

"So I've been thinking," Beth said, "Maybe it's about time I learned how to fight off all those not-so-imaginary things out there in the dark."

"Oh no," Ellen said, straightening up from the table she was wiping down. "Tell me you aren't thinking of getting into hunting."

"No, no. Of course not," Beth corrected quickly. "I just mean... just knowing about this stuff puts a target on my back, right? So it makes sense for me to know how to protect myself. I can't keep relying on you guys forever, you know? Sooner or later I'm gonna have to take care of myself."

Sam looked over at Ellen. "It makes sense," he agreed cautiously.

Ellen sighed in resignation. "Yeah, it does. Just don't do anything stupid," she told Beth.

"I won't," Beth promised. "This is just to be safe."

"So," Sam said. "Where do we start?"

Irritably, Ellen turned her attention to wiping down the bar top. "I guess you'd better teach her how to shoot."

Beth couldn't help but crack a grin. A month ago she'd had no interest in ever touching a gun outside of a videogame, but now she found herself looking forward to learning how to use one.

~—~

A few minutes later, they were standing in the scraggly weeds out behind the Roadhouse.

"Okay," Sam said, his own pistol in hand. It was actually quite pretty, made of gleaming steel with mother of pearl inlaid into the grip. "So to load a pistol, first you insert the clip securely, and then rack the slide to chamber a round." He demonstrated. "When you want to unload it, remove the clip first and then pull back the slide to clear the chambered round. Just let it pop out, you don't want your hand right next to the ejection port when there's a live round in there. Now you try."

He handed Beth the gun and clip, and she cautiously repeated the loading and unloading process.

"Good," he said with an encouraging smile, and she couldn't help but grin back.

"Having the right stance and grip is important," he continued, taking the gun back and loading it again. "You want your feet about shoulder width apart, with your right foot back a bit. Hold the gun in your right hand, and then support it with your left. If you push forward with your right hand and pull back with your left, it helps you control the recoil. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire."

Sam passed the gun back to Beth, and she held it up, mimicking the stance he'd shown her.

"Do you mind if I...?" he asked, hand hovering just over her arm.

"Oh, no, go ahead," she replied, though her heart rate immediately picked up. He gently adjusted the angle of her elbows, then pushed her into a slight forward lean. "There you go," he said. "Okay, I think you're ready to try shooting some cans." He stepped back and grabbed a few from the bag he'd brought along, lining them up neatly on top of the property's old wooden fence.

"Why don't you start just a couple paces back?" He suggested, and she moved forward to maybe four or five yards from the target.

He came back over to her. "I'm gonna stand behind you to help with the kick, okay?" he said.

Beth nodded and raised the gun once more, and Sam moved into place just behind her. He rested his hands on her forearms, his chest pressing against her back. Her stomach twisted excitedly, but she willed herself to focus on the task at hand. She was holding a loaded gun, after all.

"Line up the sights with the target, and then squeeze the trigger firmly," he instructed.

Beth took a steadying breath and fired. The bullet hit the ground behind the can and a bit to the left, raising a little plume of dust.

"Not bad for a first try," Sam encouraged. "Give it another shot."

Beth nodded and fired again. This time, she clipped the edge of the can, knocking it off the fencepost.

"Good job," he said, stepping back. Beth acutely felt the absence of his warmth at her back.

"Those are the basics, now you just need a little practice."

"Thanks," she said. "I really appreciate the demo."

"Yeah, no problem," he said with a friendly smile. "Keep working with the pistol, and next time I'll show you how to use a shotgun."


	9. Interlude I: Beth

[Author's Note: This is the first of several short interludes that explore the perspectives of various characters. Thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews!]

* * *

Chapter 9 ~ Interlude I ~ Beth

Beth was lounging on her bed with her laptop when her cell phone rang. She grabbed it absently from the nightstand, pausing her game. When she saw who was calling, she felt a surge of guilt.

"Hey, Mom," she answered.

"Beth? Are you okay? Where are you?" Beth's mother, Kathy, sounded panicked.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm fine. I'm with... I'm with some friends."

"We were worried about you! The police called, they said you were missing, and that your roommate had been murdered—what happened? Why didn't you call?"

Beth bit her lip, her stomach twisting in guilty knots. She had been dreading this conversation. "I'm really sorry, Mom. I'm okay, I swear." She wanted to tell her mom everything, but something held her back. Maybe it was fear that she would somehow put her parents in danger. Maybe it was fear that they'd think she was crazy.

"Beth? Are you still there? Tell me what happened, honey."

"I... I just came home one day and found Krista," Beth lied. "She was—God, she had been shot, I think, and there was all this blood, and like... occult stuff everywhere. I just... kinda freaked out, you know? I know I should have stayed to talk to the police, I know I should have called you and Dad, but I wasn't thinking. I just felt like I had to get out of there."

"Where are you now? I can come get you."

"No, no, it's okay. I'm in Nebraska right now, staying with some friends."

"Nebraska? Who do you know in Nebraska?"

"Uh, just some people I know from school. But they're letting me stay with them for a while, just until I've had some time to calm down and process everything." Beth silently hoped that this would be convincing enough.

There was a long silence on the other end. When Kathy finally spoke again, she sounded disappointed. "You know your father and I would do anything for you."

"I know. I just need some time."

"Just promise me you'll call. Don't disappear like that again."

"I promise. I'm really sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to make you worry."

"I love you, Beth."

"Love you too."

When she flipped the phone closed and looked down at it resting in her hand, it seemed strange. It was like a memory from a dream, while Sam and Dean, Ellen and Ash and the Roadhouse, they were the waking world.


	10. Home Invasion

Chapter 10 ~ Home Invasion

It was mid-afternoon the next day when Dean strolled into the bar. Sam had been lounging, doing something on his laptop, while Ellen showed Beth the basics of working the bar.

"Hey Sam," Dean said energetically. "Deacon just called, he's got a job for us."

Sam looked up with a confused expression. "Dad's old Marine buddy Deacon? Why does _he_ have a hunting job for us?"

Dean chuckled in a way that seemed to make both Sam and Ellen nervous. "Ohh, you are _really_ not gonna like it." He grinned. "We're goin' to prison."

"You what?" Ellen snapped. Beth just stared.

"Yep," Dean said, apparently tickled by the whole thing. Or maybe it was bravado, Beth couldn't be sure. "The Winchesters are going to let themselves get arrested. Isn't that just a kick in the pants."

"Uh, do I get a say in this?" Sam asked irritably. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"Haunting at the prison where Deacon works. The thing's racking up quite a body count."

"And you think the best way to investigate it is to get _arrested_," Sam clarified skeptically.

"Pretty much," Dean agreed. "We can't just show up pretending to be guards. Besides, Deacon's got our backs, he's gonna bust us out as soon as the job's done." After a pause, he added, "Come on, man, we owe him."

Sam put his forehead in his hands. "I cannot _believe_ we're actually considering this. You're insane."

"You know you love it."

~—~

The next morning, the boys packed up and got ready to leave for Arkansas.

"I'd tell you not to do anything stupid," Ellen said, "But it's obviously too late for that." She frowned at the brothers. "Try to come back in one piece, would you?"

"We will," Dean promised.

They turned towards the door, and something overcame Beth. "Sam!" she called out.

"Yeah?" He glanced back at her.

She stepped towards him, reaching out a hand. "Just... be careful?"

He smiled, reaching back and giving her hand a quick squeeze. "I will."

Sam and Dean walked out the door. Beth couldn't help but follow Sam's retreating back with her gaze.

"You've got it bad, don't you?" Ellen asked with a hint of humor.

"What? I don't—" Beth sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"You're less subtle than Dean's car."

Beth just sighed.

~—~

After the Winchesters left, Beth got into the rhythm of working around the bar. It was fairly simple work—delivering drinks, cleaning glasses, getting crates of beer from the basement—but she enjoyed having something to do, and she liked feeling like she was earning her keep. She also made time for target practice every day, borrowing one of Ellen's (numerous) guns. If she was going to start carrying a weapon at some point, she wanted to be sure she knew how to use it right.

Business was slow Tuesday night, so Beth had her laptop out on the corner of the bar, reading up on hoodoo during the empty stretches.

"Research?" Ash asked as he strolled up.

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that," Beth replied. "Figured I should learn what I can about the magic I'm stuck with."

"Don't ignore sites just for havin' bad web design," he advised. "Hunters don't generally care much about making things look pretty."

"Huh." She did typically skip over sites with amateur looking design, trying to find more professional sources. It hadn't occurred to her that "professional" might mean very different things in this context. "Thanks for the tip," the said.

"No problemo," he responded, taking a seat.

"So do you do a lot of this kind of thing?" she asked.

"Yep. Well, less than Bobby—I'm more of a big picture, pattern finding kind of guy—but research is generally a pretty big deal for hunters. Can't kill something if you don't know how."

Beth mulled that over. She had been under the impression that hunters all just knew how to deal with all the things they went after, but she supposed that didn't make much sense, now that she thought about it. They couldn't all know everything there was to know, so... research.

"Huh. I guess even monster hunters have homework."

~—~

A few nights later, Beth was woken in the early hours of the morning by the sound of a door slamming. For a moment, she thought nothing of it, irritably rolling over to go back to sleep, but then she heard a loud thump that rattled the walls ever so slightly. She grabbed her pocket knife and then cautiously made her way out into the hallway.

There were definite sounds of a struggle emanating from Ellen's room. Beth took a deep breath, hand hovering over the doorknob, and then threw the door open.

Inside, Ellen was fighting with a man in his mid-thirties. He had her pinned against a wall, trying to force a knife to her throat; she was using both hands to hold his arm at bay. As soon as Beth opened the door, she called, "Beth, gun!" and nodded to a shotgun resting on top of the dresser.

Beth didn't need to be told twice; she crossed the distance in two strides and grabbed the gun, aiming it at the intruder. He shoved Ellen aside and moved for Beth, but she fired before he could make it more than a yard. The man hissed in pain and fell to his knees, eyes suddenly pure black. Beth had a split second to process that he must be a demon.

Ellen wasted no time in pinning the demon to the ground, holding his arms securely behind his back. "Get the flask," she instructed urgently.

Beth turned back to the dresser, taking a moment to locate the small silver flask before grabbing it.

"It's holy water, dump it on him," Ellen said, her own hands occupied with holding the demon immobile. Beth did so, raising plumes of steam from the demon's body, and Ellen hastily recited an exorcism text.

Once the black smoke came billowing out, Ellen relaxed, letting go of the man's arms. She leaned forward and checked his pulse. "We'd better get this poor schmuck to a hospital."

Beth nodded, shakily setting the flask and gun aside. "What happened?"

"You saw most of it," Ellen replied, quickly pulling on a pair of jeans under her nightgown. "He just busted in here a few minutes ago trying to kill me. The real question is, how in the hell did he get inside?" At Beth's questioning look, she explained, "We've got safeguards. I'll fill you in in the car, but you'd better go wake Ash up, first. Just in case anything else gets in."

Beth nodded, making her way out into the hall and back towards Ash's room. She knocked on his door and waited a few seconds before cautiously opening it. To her surprise, he was still awake, working on his computer with headphones on. The volume was so loud, she could hear the music from the doorway. A low, smooth voice was singing, "I fell into a burnin' ring of fire, I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher..." She had to suppress a laugh. Johnny Cash. Of course Ash would listen to Johnny Cash.

"Ash?" she said, but he appeared to be completely oblivious to her presence. Not that that was much of a surprise—if he hadn't heard a freaking gunshot, he wouldn't hear her voice. She walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump.

"Shit, man, don't startle me like that," he said plaintively, pulling off his headphones.

"Dude," Beth said, putting a hand to her forehead in exasperation, "Did you seriously not hear _anything_ just now?"

He gave her a puzzled look. "No?"

~—~

Once they had both put on some real clothes, Beth and Ellen dragged the unconscious man out to Ellen's car. It took some effort, but they managed to get him propped up in the back seat and buckled in.

"Do you have any idea why a demon was after you?" Beth asked once they had gotten onto the road. "Is that... common?"

Ellen sighed. "It is an occupational hazard, but no, I wouldn't call it common. Demons don't typically go after hunters without a specific reason, and I'm not even a hunter. I've got no idea why this one would just show up out of nowhere. From what I've been hearing, though, there've been a lot more demon sightings recently. No one's sure why."

"You said you had safeguards against this kind of thing?"

"Yeah, we've got a perimeter of iron bands around the building, laid into the ground. Works the same way as salt, demons can't cross it. The line must be broken somewhere..."

"I can help you check it when we get back," Beth offered.

"Thanks, hon," Ellen said with a smile. "You did good back there, by the way."

"I'm just glad I've been practicing. It's a lot easier to hit someone when you know what you're doing."

"It certainly helps," Ellen agreed. "But you kept your cool, and that's even more important."

"Well thanks," Beth replied. "I'm glad it turned out okay."


	11. Revelations

Chapter 11 ~ Revelations

Beth was surprised at how quickly the Roadhouse was coming to feel like home. Most mornings, she woke up in the sunny room she was borrowing from Jo with a smile. The regulars knew her by now and greeted her when they came in. She spent time every day working for Ellen, doing whatever odd jobs the older woman needed done. The work was mindless, but it was still rewarding to know that she was making herself useful.

In the early afternoon one day, Beth was tidying up the kitchen when the phone in the bar rang. She started to put down what she was doing, but then she heard Ash answer it instead.

"Yello? ... Heya, Sam! How's life on the run treatin' you?" That caught Beth's attention. She knew she shouldn't eavesdrop, but she still made her way closer to the service window that connected kitchen and bar.

Ash continued his conversation, completely oblivious. "Yeah, sounds about right. So what's up? ... Sorry, man, Yellow-Eyes is still off the grid. It's weird, though, demon activity's been gettin' worse and worse all year, but the last couple days it's gone quiet. ... Yeah, I'm sure it ain't. ... Nope, still no sign of her. I haven't found any other kids, either, but we knew that was a long shot—I mean, if they didn't have nursery fires, they're just average 23 year olds who happen to be able to do shit with their brains. Unless one of 'em goes on a psychic killing spree or something, they're sort of hard to find. ... Mmhm. Hey, speaking of, you get any more visions lately? ... Good news, right? ... Yep, you'll be the first to know. Later."

Beth stepped back from the window and then leaned against the counter, trying to put things together. She remembered Sam asking Ash about a demon and a bunch of psychics before; that had to be what they were talking about just now. 'Yellow-Eyes' must be the demon in question, and he had something to do with a bunch of psychics. Who were all 23. Like Sam. Who was having visions.

Giving up all pretense that she was going to get any more work done, Beth headed back to her room. She grabbed her computer and did a search for nursery fires 23 years ago, scrolling through results until she saw one that made her stop cold: on November 2nd, 1983, one Mary Winchester died in a house fire in Lawrence, Kansas. She was survived by her husband, John, and two sons, Dean and Sam. Police believed the fire was caused by an electrical short.

Beth's first reaction was a flare of guilt; for all that this was publicly available information, she still felt like she had somehow invaded the boys' privacy by digging up information that wasn't freely given. She pushed that feeling aside, and instead tried to make sense of what it meant. People died in house fires all the time, but... this fire was part of a pattern that Ash was tracking. She was willing to bet it wasn't just some electrical fire. What did it have to do with _Sam_?

For a long time, Beth debated whether to look into the subject any further. She knew it was none of her business, but she had this nagging intuition that there was something big going on. Her mind kept coming back to what Ash had said about the Winchesters hunting the monsters behind the monsters, and to Ellen's warning that they were trouble.

Finally, Beth decided to talk to Ellen about it. She waited until the bar closed—the early hours of the morning when no one else was around. As she helped bus tables, she hesitantly began, "Hey, Ellen, what's going on with Sam and Dean?"

Ellen looked up from where she was cleaning up the bar. "I think they're out in Illinois looking into some disappearances, if that's what you mean."

"It's not. I can tell something big's going on, and that they're caught up in it."

Ellen sighed. "Hon, you don't wanna get mixed up in that mess. It isn't safe."

"I get that, really, I do," Beth assured, "But I feel like I'm already mixed up in it, at least a little, just by virtue of being here and knowing them. How can I know how to respond to it when I don't really know what 'it' is in the first place?"

"Maybe you can't," Ellen admitted, "But you can trust me to look out for your best interests. Stay out of this, Beth."

Beth bit her lip for a moment, debating, and then decided to show her hand. "Sam's a psychic, isn't he? And it has something to do with that demon, 'Yellow-Eyes.'"

Ellen's eyes locked onto Beth. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Ash isn't exactly the most subtle guy there is."

At that, Ellen shook her head with a wry smile. "Well, that's the truth." Then she sighed. "All right, c'mere and sit down."

The two women sat on opposite sides of the table Beth had been cleaning. Ellen looked at Beth thoughtfully, as if trying to decide what—or how much—to say.

"You aren't wrong," she began. "I don't know the whole story myself, but Sam is a psychic. Started having visions last year, seeing things before they happened. And it turns out he's not the only one. These kids are all the same age, their powers start showing up 'round the same time, and a lot of 'em had nursery fires just like Sam did."

Beth took a deep breath. "What does all that have to do with a demon?"

"Truthfully, we don't know. That demon, Yellow-Eyes, is mixed up in it all somehow. He's responsible for the fires, but that's about all we're sure on. Ash has been trying to find the pattern, trying to figure out who these kids are and what the demon wants with them. But we know a hell of a lot less than we'd like to."

Beth nodded, though she wasn't sure what to make of it. "Thanks for telling me."

"Listen to me. The Winchesters have been chasing that damn demon their whole lives, trying to get revenge on it for killing their mother. And all they've got to show for it is that it killed their father, too. So take my advice and stay away from all of it. Nothin' good can come from it."

Beth nodded again. "I—I think I'd better turn in. Thanks, Ellen. You've given me a lot to think about."

Ellen snorted. "I'm sure I have."

~—~

Beth did have a lot to think about that night, and found herself lying awake trying to sort through her feelings.

She valued Ellen's opinion, and her instinct told her to run in the other direction of anything even remotely related to demons. Her first brush with the demonic had resulted in a seemingly unbreakable curse, and although the second brush hadn't been as traumatic, it was still hardly an experience she'd like to repeat.

So she completely understood why Ellen was warning to stay out of it. She _should_ stay out of it. She should stick around until someone figured out how to get rid of the doll, and then she should high-tail it to Maine and never look back.

On the other hand... Sam.

Beth couldn't quite explain why, but the thought of going back to her ordinary life and never seeing Sam again—she just couldn't stand it. He had saved her life, he had been so patient with her questions and confusion, he had promised to help her... didn't she owe it to him to help him, too?

Abruptly, she sat up. She flipped open her cell phone to check the time... the display read 2:33. Ash would still be awake, she was sure of it.

She made her way out of her room and down the hall, taking care to step quietly. She knocked on Ash's door, though she wasn't really expecting a response. To her surprise, he opened the door almost immediately.

"What? What's wrong?"

Beth smiled in spite of herself. "Nothing, this time. I... I want to help you with whatever you're doing for Sam. Finding the psychics, finding Yellow-Eyes... anything I can do to help out."

Ash's face grew uncharacteristically grave. "What do you know about that?"

"I overheard you talking to Sam on the phone," she confessed. "And Ellen filled me in."

"Then you oughta know that this is some bad crap," Ash told her.

"I know, I know. But let me help, Ash. Please."

He seemed to be considering her. "All right, fine. But if Ellen asks, this was _your_ idea."


	12. Saving Sam

Chapter 12 ~ Saving Sam

Days had passed since Beth offered to help Ash, but they weren't making any progress. Beth was taking a break from research for the evening, helping Ellen around the bar instead.

The Roadhouse phone rang, and Ellen picked it up, cradling the phone against her shoulder. "Harvelle's Roadhouse," she greeted.

Beth glanced up at the phone when she heard Dean's voice coming across the line, loud and strained.

In the space of an instant, Ellen's expression became sharp and serious. "Dean? What do you mean, what happened? ... I need details! Where are you? How long ago did this happen?" She grabbed the nearest piece of paper and began writing. "Okay, I'll get Ash on it and we'll put out feelers. Have you talked to Bobby yet? ... Okay, good. We'll find him, just keep your cool, okay? Dean? Damn it," she muttered, hanging up the receiver. "Ash!" she called in a fearsomely sharp tone.

Ash immediately abandoned his game of pool, apparently as alarmed by Ellen's tone as Beth was.

"What is it? What's going on?" Beth asked as Ash made his way to the bar.

"Sam just disappeared into thin air out of some diner." Ellen explained in a low voice, visibly tense. "Everyone else who was in there is dead, and Dean found sulphur. He said it all happened in the space of a couple seconds."

"Oh, God," Beth whispered.

"Shit," Ash said succinctly. "Was it Yellow-Eyes?"

Ellen sighed. "The smart money's on it, but we don't know anything for sure."

Beth took a deep breath. She was not going to panic. She was going to help in whatever way she could. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I could use a hand collatin' data," Ash said. "We're gonna have a fuckton to sift through, we got no idea what kind of scale this thing is on."

"Yeah, of course," she replied. "Lemme grab my laptop, and then I'll meet you in your room?"

Ash nodded and Beth was on her way. As she left, she could hear the start of Ellen's next phone call: "Jo, baby, where are you? ... Listen, I think something big's going down."

~—~

"Ah, _shit_," Ash breathed.

It was just after dawn, and they had been working for hours. Ash was at his desk; Beth sat on the bed with her laptop, researching various topics for him. Earlier it had been news reports of freak weather, unexplained deaths, disappearances—the types of things demons might be involved with. The latest topic, however, was mid-19th century buildings in Southern Wyoming and their histories. She had been resolutely resisting the urge to ask him what he was looking for; this was not the time to question him about his methods. The last thing she wanted to be was a distraction.

The sudden cursing, however, made her more than a little nervous. "Ash?" she ventured.

He fumbled through a pile of papers until he found a map, then began to mark down points on it, periodically looking back to his computer for reference. Then he stood, grabbing the map and rushing out of the room.

Beth pushed her laptop aside and followed him as he made his way down into the basement. "Ash, what the hell is going on? What did you find?"

"Sorry, Beth, this is above your pay grade," he said as he opened the safe. "Hell, I think this is above _my_ pay grade." He stuffed the map into the safe, next to Beth's curse box, then muttered to himself, "Shit... I gotta call Dean."

~—~

"Ellen, we're out of pretzels!"

Beth shook her head in frustration at the hunter's repeated requests. Didn't this guy know that Sam was in trouble? Didn't he realize they had bigger things to worry about? She scowled at her computer. They still hadn't found Sam, and her head was pounding.

Ellen was irritated, too. "Are you gonna die without some damn pretzels?"

The hunter laughed. "I might!"

"All right, fine, keep your panties on." Ellen turned to Beth. "Looks like I'm going out."

Beth nodded and rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. "I think I need some fresh air. Maybe I'll take a walk."

"All right, just let Ash know we're going."

Ellen grabbed her keys and her coat and headed out the door. Beth stuck her head into Ash's room. "Hey, Ash, my head is killing me, I'm gonna go get some air."

"'Kay," Ash said, not moving his attention from his computer.

"Oh, and Ellen went out on a supply run."

"Yeah, fine," Ash said. He was in the zone and not interested in conversation.

Beth grabbed her jacket and phone and headed out through the parking lot. She made her way through the open field surrounding the Roadhouse and towards the trees. The fresh air did help to clear her head. She wandered, letting her mind go blank, letting the tension drain from her shoulders.

She lost track of time, but eventually she thought she had better head back to the Roadhouse. She turned and started back the way she'd come.

As soon as Beth cleared the tree line, she could see a column of dark smoke rising in the distance. The acrid smell of fire reached her nose. Anxiety began to claw at her gut, and she started to run back towards the Roadhouse.

By the time she arrived, there were no more flames, only smoldering embers. The fire had burned unbelievably fast. The Roadhouse was a charred skeleton of its former self, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and burnt meat and sulphur. "Ellen?" she shouted, her panic growing more and more by the second. "Ash?"

Beth forced herself to take a deep breath. Ellen had left just before her, so she might have still been away when the fire started. Ash, on the other hand...

Beth was trying to figure out what to do—what she _could_ do—when her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a gun cocking behind her. "Who are you?" came a female voice, harsh and shaky.

Beth turned around slowly, raising her hands. To her surprise, she instantly recognized the woman who had a gun trained on her chest. "Jo?"

Jo was not pleased. She took a step forward, holding the gun steady, and snarled, "_Who are you?_" Beth could detect traces of panic under the anger in Jo's tone.

Beth tried to keep her voice steady and calm. "My name is Beth Mossberg, I've been staying here for the last few weeks."

"You're Beth?" Jo asked, though she didn't lower the gun. "Tell me what happened here. Now."

"I—I don't know," Beth replied truthfully. "I left about an hour ago to take a walk, and I only just got back."

Jo pulled a flask out of her back pocket and opened it one-handed, keeping the gun trained on Beth with the other. With a quick movement, she splashed it across Beth's face.

"Holy water?" Beth guessed with a sheepish smile, bringing up a hand to wipe her eyes.

Jo lowered the gun. "Is my mom—" she started to ask, but her voice broke.

"I don't think so," Beth replied hurriedly. "She went out on a supply run just before I left."

Jo nodded, taking a moment to steady herself. "Okay... do you have any idea what's going on around here?"

Beth shook her head. "Ash found something, but he wouldn't tell me what. He was kind of freaking out about it." She looked back at the ruins of the Roadhouse with a sharp pang of sorrow. "I guess he was right to."

"All right," Jo said. "First order of business is to try to find my mom."

"Wait. Ash had put something in the safe while he was waiting for Dean, some kind of map. I think it was important. And we should probably grab my doll."

"You're worried about a fucking doll?" Jo hissed.

"Hoodoo doll," Beth clarified quickly.

"Oh," Jo said flatly. "Yeah, okay. Let's get in there."

Beth followed Jo as they carefully made their way through the ruins, navigating around charred debris and corpses. She bit her lip the whole way, using all of her willpower to not cry or vomit. At least the stairs to the basement were still intact. When she reached the bottom, Beth stopped cold. The safe door was hanging open, and it was completely empty inside.

"No," she whispered.

"Hang on," Jo said, stepping closer and examining it. "I get the map and maybe the doll, but why would a bunch of demons take the _cash_?"

"Ellen?" Beth asked, hopeful for the first time since she saw the smoke.

"Maybe," Jo replied, heading back to the stairs. "She'd go to Bobby's, we should head that way, too. Come on."


	13. The Aftermath

Chapter 13 ~ The Aftermath

Jo drove a vintage car of her own, in her case an ivory Thunderbird. Beth didn't know enough car history to say for certain when it was from, but she would guess sometime in the '60s. In any case, it was beautifully maintained. She gave it an appreciative glance as they got in.

Jo cracked a small smile. "Love this car. My dad helped me pick it out. It was a piece of crap, all rusted to hell. We were going to fix it up together," she continued, and her expression fell. "But that was before..."

Beth didn't want to press. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Jo agreed. "Let's go find my mom."

Once the two women were on the Interstate, heading north, Jo asked, "So how much do you know about what's going on?"

It felt like she didn't know anything useful, but Beth reviewed what she did know in her mind. "I know Sam's missing, and that Yellow-Eyes is the prime suspect... I know Dean and Bobby are out looking for him... I know that Ash found something big in Wyoming, but I have no idea what. I think that about covers it."

Jo gave Beth a mildly impressed glance before returning her eyes to the road. "You're pretty well informed," she commented.

Beth smiled a little. "Yeah, well... apparently, I'm nosy. I guess it's not such a bad thing, if it'll help us figure this mess out. Speaking of, do you have any more info?"

"Nope." Jo chuckled cynically. "My mom was never very happy about me becoming a hunter, so she hasn't been big on sharing this kind of thing with me. Damn it, I wish she had."

Beth nodded. Her first instinct was to offer reassurances that things would be okay, but she knew it was a lie. Things weren't okay. The Roadhouse was gone and Ash was dead and Ellen and Sam were both missing. Things were a total mess, and Beth had no reason to believe they'd get any better.

~—~

They reached Bobby's place just after dusk that evening. Beth noted nervously that there were no lights on inside. Cautiously Jo got out of the car, gun in hand, and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she swore.

"Keep an eye out," Jo instructed, "I'm gonna try calling them." She made several calls in quick succession, hanging up each time it went to voicemail. "Well, shit," she said, flipping her phone shut. "That was Dean's last phone."

"So—what now," Beth asked, willing herself to remain calm.

"I don't know," Jo replied wearily. "Find somewhere to hole up for the night and hope someone calls us?" Jo bit her lip for a minute, thinking, then made her way to the Thunderbird's trunk. "We should hunker down here, Bobby's place is a lot more secure than some motel."

"You have a key?" Beth asked, surprised.

Jo smiled crookedly, pulling a set of lockpicks from her stash of supplies. "Don't need one."

Once she had picked the lock, Jo had Beth wait by the car while she checked the building. She emerged a few minutes later, once again making her way to the trunk. "All right, we're good," she said, grabbing a bag and stuffing in a selection of guns and other supplies.

Once they were inside, Jo relocked the door and then made her way into the living room, dumping the bag on the desk. "Come on, I wanna put a salt line down," she beckoned, making her way back to the kitchen and rummaging through the cabinets.

While the two of them were laying down lines of salt across each of the entrances into the living room, Jo's phone rang. "Hello?" she answered. A moment later she cried, "Mom!"

Beth felt a wave of relief wash over her. Ellen was alive.

Jo continued her conversation. "I saw the Roadhouse, why the hell didn't you call me sooner? … No, not any more, I'm up at Bobby's now. Beth's with me. … Yeah, she's fine. Where the hell are you, are you safe? … Okay. … Yeah, we're good. No idea where Bobby and Dean are, but we're good. We were planning on holeing up here until they showed. … Okay, just get here when you can. I love you. … Bye."

"She took a detour, in case whatever burnt down the Roadhouse followed her," Jo explained as she put away her phone. Beth appreciated being filled in without having to ask. "She's okay, though."

"Good," Beth said, genuinely glad. "So now we wait?"

"Now we wait," Jo agreed.

~—~

After a while, Beth dozed off on the couch. She had been running on adrenaline all day, hadn't slept the night before, and it was finally catching up with her.

She woke to the sound of Jo shouting. "Bobby, calm down, it's me!"

Beth sat up, opening her eyes to the sight of Bobby and Jo staring each other down, shotguns in hand.

"Like hell it is," Bobby growled. "You demonic son of a bitch."

"What kind of demon puts down a salt line, huh?" Jo reasoned, nodding to the line of salt across the archway that separated them.

"All right. You step over that line and I'll put my gun down."

Jo shook her head. "Nice try, but I've got no way of knowing that you're not possessed."

"This is _my_ damn house!" Bobby cried indignantly.

"Guys," Beth interrupted as she cautiously got to her feet, "Let's all chill out, okay? Bobby, you got any holy water?"

He looked surprised by her intervention. "Uh, yeah?"

"Give it here." He seemed to debate with himself for a moment, but then pulled out a flask and tossed it to her. Beth sprinkled some water on herself, then Jo. "See, not demons," she said. After a moment, Bobby nodded and lowered his gun.

"Now how about _you_ step over to _our_ side of the line," Jo suggested, her own weapon still raised.

With a scowl, Bobby stepped into the living room. He didn't even falter as he crossed the line. "Happy?"

Jo lowered her gun. "Yeah. Good to see you, Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, making his way over to the bottle of bourbon on the desk. Now that he was closer, Beth couldn't help but notice that he looked like shit. His face was gaunt with exhaustion, and his eyes were red... it almost looked as though he'd been crying. "You girls wanna explain what you're doing here?"

"The Roadhouse is gone," Jo explained simply. "Somebody torched it."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, pouring himself a full glass of whisky and then taking a long drink.

"Right," Beth said to herself, remembering. "You guys were on your way to meet Ash." That realization led her to another. "Hey, where's Dean? Is he okay?"

"Not really," Bobby replied darkly. He took another long swig of his drink before continuing. "Sam's dead."

Beth felt like her veins had suddenly been flooded with ice water. She sank back onto the couch before her knees could give out. Her throat tightened, and she felt like she had been hollowed out inside. Sam was dead. Through the numbness, she could only muster a sense of devastation and awful guilt, as if she had failed him.

"What?" Jo stammered. "What the hell... what happened?"

"I don't know!" Bobby snapped, making Beth jump. He took a deep breath, then continued, "Me and Dean found him just in time to see some bastard stab him in the back, literally. We got no clue who the guy was or how either of them got there. In other words, we got jack shit."

"Where?" Jo managed, though she was starting to choke up as well.

"Cold Oak. Dean's still out there with the body, refusin' to leave it." He downed the last of his drink and poured another. "There's no reasoning with that boy right now. The idjit," he muttered.

It was an effort for Beth to stand up again, but she forced her limbs to cooperate and carry her over to the desk. Wordlessly, she grabbed a glass and held it out to Bobby. With a pained, understanding expression, he poured her a few fingers of whiskey, watching as she knocked them back in one go.

Jo came closer, putting a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Bobby. I know Sam is like—" She cleared her throat. "Was like a son to you."

Bobby nodded and swallowed hard. None of them had anything else to say.


	14. Hundred Mile Demon Trap

Chapter 14 ~ Hundred Mile Demon Trap

For a long time, Jo, Beth, and Bobby sat in heavy silence in Bobby's living room. Grief weighed them all down. Beth knew that Yellow-Eyes was still out there, that whatever Ash had found in Wyoming was still out there, but it just didn't seem to matter anymore. They had been trying to help Sam, then trying to save him, and now... what was the point? Nothing seemed to matter now that he was gone.

Beth hadn't thought she'd be able to sleep, but eventually exhaustion took over and she dozed on the couch again. Some time later, she was woken by the low sounds of Jo and Bobby talking. She hauled herself up into a seated position.

"So you think that Yellow-Eyes picked Sam and that other guy up and dropped them in Cold Oak?" Jo was saying.

"Seems like," Bobby answered.

"Any idea _why_?" Jo continued. "I mean, what was the end game?"

"We got no idea. 'Cept it looked like Sam had been fighting the other guy, they were both beat to hell."

"Demonic version of dog fighting?" Beth ventured, her voice flat.

Bobby grimaced. "No damn idea."

"So what now?" Jo asked. Beth supposed it was a hunter's drive to keep going, no matter the pain, no matter the losses.

"Guess we oughta hit the books," Bobby replied dully. "Start looking for demon signs, figure out where Yellow-Eyes is now."

Beth was so tired. She just wanted to curl up and sleep and never wake up. But instead, she quietly picked up Bobby's computer and started typing in search terms.

The midmorning sun was streaming in when there was a knock at the front door. The three looked up, then glanced at one another. "I got it," Bobby grumbled, standing and walking in that direction.

Beth heard the door creak open. It was quiet for a moment, and then she heard Dean's voice say, "Hey, Bobby." It was echoed a moment later by a different voice. Jo and Beth exchanged glances. That was _Sam's_ voice.

Beth skidded out into the kitchen, Jo just behind her. There was Sam, standing in the doorway with a sheepish smile while Bobby murmured a greeting.

Without really thinking, Beth charged forward and threw her arms around his chest. "Sam!" she exclaimed, once more on the verge of tears.

"Ah, hey Beth," he replied tightly, and Beth realized that she was hurting him. She immediately let go, pulling back a bit so she could look up at his face. One hand grasped at the sleeve of his coat.

"God, we thought you were—"

Dean took advantage of her voice breaking to cut in. "Yeah, it was touch and go for a while, but he pulled through." He smiled feebly.

"I hear I have you to thank for that," Sam said to Bobby. "I owe you, man."

"Don't mention it," Bobby replied faintly. Beth looked between him and Jo; they both looked like they'd seen a ghost, which made sense. But they also looked uneasy, like their hackles were raised.

Sam and Dean made their way inside as Bobby stepped back to admit them. "Jo, Beth," Dean greeted tersely. "Glad you two are okay."

"Yeah, you too," Jo replied. There was a definite note of suspicion in her voice.

"Well, Sam's better now, so I guess we're back in it," Dean said.

Beth didn't understand Bobby and Jo's reactions. Being wary of Sam she could get—he did, apparently, just come back from the brink of death, so she wouldn't blame them for entertaining the possibility that he wasn't really Sam. But they weren't suspicious of Sam, they were suspicious of _Dean_. He _was_ acting kind of strange... like there was something lurking in the room and Dean wanted to make sure no one named it.

In any case, no one was pulling their gun, so she figured it must not be a huge deal. And, miraculously, _Sam_ was there. She pushed the concern from her mind in favor of relief as she followed the four hunters back into the living room.

"We've just been tryin' to figure out what's going on," Bobby explained to the Winchesters. "Since right around the time you went missing, demonic omens have skyrocketed from out of nowhere. Cattle deaths, lightning storms... like a friggin' tidal wave, all around here," he gestured to the map on his desk. "'Cept for this little patch of Southern Wyoming."

"Wyoming? What's in Wyoming?" Dean asked.

"We don't know," Beth said, "but we're pretty sure it's whatever Ash found, right before..." Her throat closed up; the pain of losing Ash was still too fresh.

"I'm so sorry," Sam consoled, putting a hand on Beth's shoulder. She smiled; he was still the same gentle soul as always.

Abruptly, Sam turned to Jo. "Oh God, and Ellen—"

"She's okay," Jo interrupted, though her voice was also tight with grief over Ash. "She called us last night, she's on her way up here."

"Well, thank God for that," he replied.

"Looks like Sam's still a little out of the loop," Bobby observed, steering the conversation back to business. "Why don't you girls fill him in? Dean, I could use a hand hauling in some books from the truck."

For just a fraction of a second, Dean's expression seemed to turn uneasy. Then it passed, and he followed Bobby out of the room.

Jo watched Dean and Bobby leave, and Beth watched Jo, trying to understand the tension in her face. Then Beth looked at Sam, and he gave her a hesitant smile.

"So, what did I miss?"

~—~

When Dean and Bobby came back inside, they did not have a load of books. They did, however, have Ellen. This time, it was Jo's turn to run forward and pull her mother into an embrace.

"Hey, baby," Ellen crooned soothingly, rubbing a hand over Jo's hair, though Beth could tell she was hurting, mourning all the friends she had just lost.

"Mom," Jo said, her voice thick. "I'm... I'm really glad you're here."

"Me too, hon. Me too."

After a long moment, Jo stepped back reluctantly. Ellen turned to Beth. She held her arms open, a little to Beth's surprise, but Beth gladly stepped forward to embrace the other woman.

"I am so sorry," Beth consoled.

That made Ellen chuckle a little. "Isn't that my line? I'm the mom here."

Beth smiled back sadly as she pulled away. "I'm sure you need it a lot more than I do right now. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"That's sweet, but I'm okay. We'd best get down to work."

As the women returned to the living room, Bobby poured some holy water into a shot glass and held it out for Ellen.

"Bobby, is this really necessary?" she asked as she took it.

"Just a belt of holy water," he replied. "Shouldn't hurt."

Ellen sighed and downed the shot, then passed the glass back to Bobby. "Whiskey, now, if you don't mind."

Bobby complied with a shrug as Ellen took a seat by the desk. "So the girls said the Roadhouse safe was emptied out when they got there," he began as he handed her a shot of the bourbon.

"Yeah, that was me," Ellen confirmed. To Beth, she added, "I've got your curse box out in the car, by the way."

"Thanks," Beth said with a quick smile. "And the map?"

Ellen produced it from her jacket, laying it out on the desk. "You got any idea what it means?" she asked Beth.

Beth bit her lip for a moment, studying it. "I'm pretty sure these Xs are all sites of old frontier churches—Ash had me researching buildings from that era," She explained. "I've got no idea why they're significant, though, aside from being near that dead zone."

"Well," Dean said, "I guess we'd better figure it out."

~—~

"I don't believe it," Bobby said about an hour later, walking over to the desk with an open book in his hands. "Those churches—all five of them were built by Samuel Colt."

"Samuel Colt—the demon killing, gun making Samuel Colt?" Dean clarified.

"Yep," Bobby confirmed, as Beth quietly raised her eyebrows at that little revelation. "And there's more. He built private railway lines connecting church to church that just happen to lay out like this." He drew in lines on the map between the Xs, forming a star pattern.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is," Dean said.

"It's a devil's trap," Sam confirmed quietly. "A hundred square mile devil's trap."

"That's brilliant," Dean said. "Iron lines the demons can't cross."

"I've never heard of anything that massive," Ellen remarked.

"No one has," Bobby agreed.

"Well that explains our dead zone," Jo observed. "Demons are swarming the place, but they can't get in."

"Which begs the question," Sam pointed out, "What's inside?"

"That's what I've been looking for," Dean began, "And, uh, there's nothing, except an old cowboy cemetery, right in the middle." He pointed out the location on the map, dead in the center of the star.

"And _that_ begs the question, what's in the cemetery?" Beth contributed.

"Exactly," Sam agreed. "What's Colt trying to protect?"

"Well, unless," Dean began, but then trailed off.

"Unless what?" Bobby asked.

"What if Colt wasn't trying to keep the demons out?" Dean suggested. "What if he was trying to keep something in?"

"Well that's a comforting thought," Ellen said wryly.

"Yeah, you think?" Dean shot back.

"Could they do it, Bobby, could they get inside?" Sam asked.

"It looks like they're already throwing everything they've got at it," Jo observed. "And they haven't gotten in yet."

"No way a demon gets across this thing," Bobby agreed. "It's way too powerful."

"No," Sam said, and the steel in his voice drew all eyes to him. "But I know who could."

Understanding broke across Dean's features. "Son of a bitch," he said. "That Jake guy?"

"This has to be Yellow-Eyes' endgame," Sam reasoned. "All the meddling with kids' lives, all that crap about looking for the 'best and brightest,' trying to pare us down to just one... This is what it's all been about. He needs a human pawn to get at whatever's in that cemetery."

"Well then we'd better get there first," Bobby said.

At that, everyone started to move. There was a flurry of activity as guns were collected, ammunition was counted, bags were packed. Beth worked right alongside Ellen and Jo, helping to get ready to face—whatever it was they were going to face in Wyoming.

"Hang on a minute," Dean said, interrupting the packing. He looked pointedly at Ellen. "You're not coming."

"The hell I'm not," she shot back. "Don't you go acting like you can tell me what to do, Dean Winchester."

"No." Dean's voice was hard. "You're staying here, with Jo and Beth, and you're all gonna stay safe."

Jo bristled at that. Beth didn't blame her. Still, she surprised herself when she spoke up. "We're not staying here."

Sam raised his eyebrows at the firmness in her tone. "Beth, whatever's in that cemetery, it's bad. We're not going to let you go walking into the middle of it where you might get hurt."

"I'm not staying behind!" Beth said, suddenly angry. "I am not going to sit around, clueless, wondering whether my friends are dead or alive. Not again." She let out a sharp sigh. "I know I'm not a hunter, but I want to help. And whatever's about to go down, you guys are gonna need all the help you can get. I'm coming with you."

"Ellen," Dean growled, "Would you back me up here, please?"

Ellen looked from Beth and Jo, standing side by side, over to Sam and Dean. "God knows I don't want any of you getting hurt," Ellen told them. "But if we're going, we're going together."

Exasperated, Dean looked to Bobby. The older man put up his hands in surrender. "Don't look at me! You couldn't _pay_ me to get in the middle of this."

Dean fumed for a moment longer, then turned back to his duffel bag. "Fine," he snapped. "But when we get there, I'm calling the shots."


	15. The Gate

Chapter 15 ~ The Gate

They arrived at the old graveyard late in that clear, moonlit night. It was quiet; Beth prayed that meant they had gotten there in time. Silently, all six of them drew their weapons and made their way into the cemetery.

Once he reached the mausoleum, Dean turned and spoke. "All right, it looks clear. We should fan out and lie in wait behind tombstones, try to catch that bag of dicks off guard."

They all moved to follow Dean's order, though first Sam closed the cemetery gate once more. Beth took a position relatively far out, past where Jo crouched vigilantly.

She wasn't sure how long it was—maybe half an hour, though it felt like longer—but finally the gate creaked open once more. Beth couldn't get a good look at the figure until he passed her on his way to the mausoleum. He was tall, nearly as tall as Sam, and muscular, wearing a khaki jacket over a dark-colored hoodie and jeans.

When the man approached the mausoleum doors, Sam stepped out into the open. "Howdy, Jake," he greeted bitterly as the rest of the team also revealed themselves, guns raised.

Jake turned, surveying the situation before his eyes came to a rest on Sam. "Wait," he said. "You were dead, I killed you."

"Yeah? Well next time, finish the job," Sam spat in reply.

"I did!" Jake said, clearly spooked. "Cut clean through your spinal cord, man. You can't be alive... you can't be."

Beth couldn't help but glance over at Sam, who was now looking at Dean. Beth frowned. Bobby had said Sam was dead, and he hadn't sounded uncertain about it. Somehow, Dean knew something he wasn't telling.

"Okay, just take it real easy there, son," Bobby said. Beth's attention snapped back to Jake.

Jake's expression became hostile. "And if I don't?"

"Wait and see!" Sam called out. He seemed about as unsettled as Jake had moments before.

Jake's attention returned to Sam. "You a tough guy all of the sudden? What are you gonna do, kill me?"

"It's a thought," Sam replied.

"You had your chance, you couldn't."

"I won't make that mistake twice."

Jake smiled, then laughed. The sound of it made shivers run down Beth's spine.

"What are you smiling at, you little bitch?" Dean asked.

Jake looked over the group once more, and then his gaze settled on Beth. "You don't look like you belong here, little girl."

"I'm older than you, asshat," Beth shot back, doing her best to mask how alarmed she was at being the focus of his attention.

He just smirked. "Do me a favor." His eyes glowed for just a moment, and Beth's blood ran cold. "Put that gun to your head."

Every fiber of Beth's being wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but her hand started to move nonetheless. She groaned involuntarily as she fought against it, not very successfully.

Jake just laughed again, turning back to Sam. "See, that Ava girl was right," he gloated. "Once you give in to it, there's all sorts of Jedi mind tricks you can learn."

"Let her go!" Sam shouted. Beth was too busy fighting the foreign influence in her head to appreciate his defensiveness.

"Kill the bastard," she managed to say, though it came out strained and shaky.

"You'll be mopping up skull before you get a shot off," Jake said smugly. After a tense moment, he continued, "Everybody put your guns down." To Beth, he amended, "'Cept you, sweetheart."

Beth growled, but that was the best she could do. She could not believe that _she_ was the fucking hostage who was going to screw everything over. At that moment, any fear of dying was being overwhelmed by her desire to rip this guy's smug damn face off.

Her companions looked at one another, then slowly lowered their weapons.

"Okay. Thank you," Jake said. Everyone was still for a moment, and then he turned back to the mausoleum doors, stuffing some sort of key into the mechanism there.

In an instant, Jo and Dean were pulling the gun away from Beth's head. Jake's influence made her pull the trigger, but he was too late; the round hit nothing but an old obelisk several yards back. With that, the fingers in her mind receded and her body was her own once more.

In the meantime, Sam had scooped up his pistol from where he'd dropped it moments before. He fired four rounds in quick succession into Jake's back. Jake fell, but the clockwork mechanisms inside the door had already come to life, creaking and thumping ominously. Beth noted with mild confusion that the key appeared to be an ornate old revolver.

Sam stepped around Jake's fallen form, stopping in front of his feet. His face was twisted with cold wrath. Jake was gasping, trying to say something, but then Sam fired another three rounds into Jake's head. It was... more than a little disturbing, but Beth remembered just how violent her own impulses had been only moments before. And the bastard certainly had it coming.

As the rest of the group moved towards him and the mausoleum doors, Sam wiped a few droplets of blood off of his face. It was silent, save for the creaking of the door mechanism.

"Oh no," Bobby said, as the mechanism finally spun to a halt.

"What?" Jo asked.

"It's Hell," Bobby replied. Dean grabbed the revolver from the door, just as Bobby shouted, "Take cover, now!"

They all ran to the line of gravestones, taking shelter behind them like the obligatory chest-high walls of a videogame. Moments later, the doors burst open with a violent shockwave, releasing a massive plume of black smoke. Individual tendrils twisted around one another like the tentacles of some kind of Lovecraftian monster. It was demons, Beth realized in horror, hundreds of them.

"What the hell just happened?" Dean shouted as the main cloud blew past them into the night. A lesser flow of demonic smoke continued to pour out of the gate, along with numerous other ghostly figures.

"That's a Devil's Gate, a damn door to Hell," Ellen yelled back. "Come on, we gotta shut that Gate!"

They all rushed forward, heaving against the huge metal doors. It took Beth a moment to notice that Dean was hanging back. She saw him turn and raise the revolver against a figure behind him, which in turn raised a hand. For a split second, Beth caught a glimpse of the man's eyes—they were a sickly yellow. The gun flew from Dean's hand and into the demon's. Then Dean flew half a dozen yards across the graveyard, slamming into a tombstone.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, abandoning the door and running to help his brother. Beth wished she could help them, as well, but she knew that closing the Gate was more important. She closed her eyes and heaved against it with renewed urgency.

Just as they finally forced the doors closed, Beth heard another gunshot. She opened her eyes to the sight of Dean with the smoking revolver in hand and the demon crumpling to the ground. Sam was pinned to a tree by some demonic force, but he too slid to the ground a moment later, breathing heavily.

Then Beth noticed another man, pulling himself to his feet not far from where the demon had fallen. As the Winchesters stood, they both stared at this man, faces awash with a multitude of emotions.

"John," Ellen breathed, and Beth realized that Ellen and Bobby and Jo were also staring at this man, nearly as overwhelmed as the boys.

The man stepped over to Dean, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then he nodded to Sam. It was hard to tell at this distance, but Beth thought that all three of them were crying.

After a moment, the man stepped back from Dean, and an instant later he disappeared in a flash of white light.

Beth leaned back against the mausoleum door and slid to the ground. She was beginning to come down off of her adrenaline high, and she felt shaky and sore. She watched Sam and Dean stand over the corpse of the yellow-eyed demon, talking in low voices, but she couldn't make out what they were saying.

After a few moments, the brothers began to walk off together, in the direction of the Impala. Beth felt a flash of curiosity and a desire to follow them, but she stopped herself. They deserved some time to process everything that had happened.

Instead, Beth hauled herself to her feet and staggered over to Jo, Ellen, and Bobby, who were clustered together a few feet from the mausoleum.

"You okay?" Ellen asked as Beth approached.

"Yeah, I'm all right. Or I will be. What... what just happened?"

Bobby screwed up his face. "We just shut a Devil's Gate, and Sam and Dean killed the demon they've been after their whole lives."

"And... that man, the one who disappeared? What..." She trailed off, a nagging sensation telling her that maybe she shouldn't ask.

"John Winchester," Bobby answered, with a disbelieving shake of his head. "That was their dad."

Beth looked back in the direction the brothers had gone. "Holy shit," she breathed, because she didn't have anything else she could say.


	16. Parting of the Ways

Chapter 16 ~ Parting of the Ways

By the time the six of them made it back to Bobby's, it was already early afternoon. They all dragged themselves inside, wearily settling in the living room. All anyone wanted to do was go get some rest, but apparently there was a war on now, and they needed to talk strategy.

"So," Bobby began as he stiffly took his seat behind the desk, "What the hell are we gonna do about this mess?"

"Get to hunting the sons of bitches," Jo said without a hint of hesitation.

Ellen spared a glance for her daughter before adding, "We should spread the word to other hunters, make sure everyone knows what's coming."

Sam put a hand to his face. "Yeah, they're gonna be real happy when they hear what we just let out."

"Hey," Beth cut in, "_We_ didn't let anything out. Jake and Yellow-Eyes did, and we've already wasted both of them for it. Well... you guys did, anyway. The point still stands."

"Maybe," Dean said, "But a lot of hunters are dicks. They're generally not too big on subtleties like that."

Beth snorted. "I wouldn't call it a subtlety."

"Whatever," Ellen interrupted. "Point is, we're gonna need all hands on deck for this."

Bobby sighed and reached for the phone. "I'll start making calls. In the meantime, you all need to start tracking the things."

~—~

It was funny, Beth thought, how everything could change in the space of a single night, and yet so much could stay the same. She had been tracking the yellow-eyed demon; now, he was dead, and instead she was tracking the things he had unleashed on the world.

She scrubbed her face with her hands and stretched. She had been sitting on the floor in front of Bobby's desk for hours, passing tips to Bobby or Ellen or following up on something one of them had found. Sam was buried in a book, Jo was napping, and Dean had gone for food.

"Damn it," Ellen said wearily. "I can't keep this up."

"Well try harder," Bobby groused. "We let the demons out of the bag, we've gotta put them back in."

"My home just burned down, in case you forgot," Ellen shot back, drawing Sam's attention out of his book. Jo opened her eyes at the sound of Ellen's voice, blinking sleepily. "And I can't just stay here until these demons are taken care of—this is gonna be a long haul. I need a place to live, and so do Jo and Beth."

Beth glanced up, surprised that Ellen had included her. "I'll be fine, Ellen," she said.

"You will be fine, but not if you have to sleep on Bobby's floor for six months," Ellen replied. "I told you I'd take care of you, and I will."

Bobby pulled out a flask and took a swig. "All right, but what do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing," Ellen answered irritably, "But I need to stop chasing my damn tail looking for omens and find a new place. Somewhere that's an easy drive from here. I think maybe it's time for Jo and me to become South Dakotans."

"Mom," Jo said, pushing herself up on the couch. "I have my own place in Duluth, remember?"

"Baby, after what we've been through in the past week, I am not letting you out of my sight, and that's final."

Jo rolled her eyes, but Beth noticed she didn't object.

~—~

Dean came in carrying bags of food from the nearest burger joint. "Soup's on," he called.

The group gathered around, passing out burgers and fries to everyone. There were several minutes of friendly, if tired, silence, but the hunters were quick to return to business.

"You're going after these demons, right?" Jo asked the brothers.

"Yeah, seems like we sort of have to," Sam replied. "Try to set things right, you know?"

"Nobody's ever seen this many demons in the wild at once before," Ellen remarked. "You sure you're prepared to handle it?"

"We'll be fine," Dean asserted. "Personally, I can't wait to kick some demon ass."

Jo pressed, "You know you could use some help."

Dean glanced at Ellen's stony expression. "Nothing personal, Jo, but I think your mom would disembowel me if I let you come with. You should stay safe, take care of yourself."

"'Cause you're just a model of takin' care of yourself," Bobby grumbled sarcastically, as though he had been wanting to pick a fight with Dean for quite awhile.

Dean clearly took umbrage at the remark. "Oh, screw you, Bobby. Are you just gonna harp on that for the next year?"

"Why in the hell shouldn't I?" The two men glared at each other, and the tension in the room was palpable.

"Does one of you want to explain what you're on about?" Ellen asked levelly.

"Bobby—" Dean began threateningly, but Bobby cut him off.

"This massive _idjit_ made a crossroads deal!"

The room went silent. Beth had no idea what a crossroads deal was, but given Ellen and Jo's expressions, it was a very bad thing.

"For what?" Ellen asked after a long moment.

"To bring me back," Sam said quietly. He looked deeply weary all of the sudden—even more so than they all already were—and Beth thought she could make out a trace of guilt in his expression.

"Of course," Ellen sighed, putting her head in her hands. "What else."

Jo looked like she was on the verge of tears. "How long?" she asked.

When Dean didn't answer, Bobby supplied, "A year."

"Well screw the demons," Jo said, "We need to deal with this!"

"Oh no," Dean said, jaw set stubbornly. "We just opened Pandora's box, and the whole world's gonna be feeling it before long. Fixing that comes first."

Beth glanced from one grave face to another. "A year until what?"

No one answered for a long moment. "Dean sold his soul," Sam finally said. "And in a year, his number comes up, and he goes to Hell."

She reeled. A crossroads deal—a deal with the devil. Sam _had_ died, just like Bobby said, and Dean had sold his soul to bring Sam back.

Beth stared at Sam's sorrowful, exhausted face, then at Dean and the hard line of his jaw. "We're done talking about this," Dean snapped, and that was that.

~—~

Less than a week after the Devil's Gate opened, the friends who had been brought together by the catastrophe were going their separate ways. Ellen had managed to find a house for rent in a nearby town and even had some leads on employment. Sam and Dean had a lead of their own, signs of potential demonic activity out in Nebraska.

There had been days of preparation, but suddenly everything was done that could be done, and it was time to say goodbye. Bobby was staying, of course, but Ellen, Jo, and Beth were off to their new place and Sam and Dean were off to do what they did best.

Beth knew, of course, that this was how it should be. That she could do the most good by sticking with the Harvelles, and that the brothers certainly weren't going to sit around. They had to go after the demons.

But that didn't mean she didn't hate it. She was still humming with relief over knowing Sam was alive. Now he was leaving, and who knew when she would see him again?

As Dean loaded up the Impala, Beth found Sam saying goodbye to Bobby. She waited while the two shared a short, tight hug. As Sam stepped back, Beth spoke up. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Beth?"

"I just wanted to say... bye, I guess."

Bobby passed a knowing glance between Sam and Beth, and made himself scarce.

"Hey, thanks for all your help," Sam said. "You didn't have to get involved in all this."

"I know, but I wanted to. And I'll do anything I can to help you deal with this whole mess, and with Dean's situation."

He smiled. "Thanks, that means a lot."

Beth stared up into those gorgeous, sad green eyes and, without thinking, she reached up and kissed him.

Immediately, he was pulling away, and the look on his face made her heart plummet. "Shit," she breathed. "I'm—I'm sorry, that was—"

Sam cut her off, tone apologetic. "No, look, it's just... the last time I got involved with someone it ended... _really_ badly, and I'm just—"

"Hey, it's fine," she said, forcing a smile as she stepped back. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Just, uh, do me a favor and let's pretend this never happened?"

He flashed his own awkward smile. "Yeah, of course."

"Okay. I'm, uh, I'm gonna go see if Ellen needs any help," she fumbled, then fled. Before she disappeared around the corner, she paused to add, "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Once Sam was out of sight, Beth sighed heavily. _Well_, She told herself, squaring her shoulders, _That's that_. If Sam wasn't interested, then there was nothing to do but take it in stride. _Deal with it like a grownup_, she thought, and felt herself smile a little as she resolved to do so.


	17. Home Sweet Home

Chapter 17 ~ Home Sweet Home

Mitchell, South Dakota was a town of 15,000 an hour west of Bobby's. It was a typical midwestern town, its main attraction a venue known as the Corn Palace. But the housing was cheap, and that was what Ellen cared about.

"Here it is, our new home," Ellen said as she unlocked the door and led Jo and Beth inside.

Beth looked around. Their new home was a furnished three-bedroom rental house Ellen had managed to find on short notice and with no questions asked. The downstairs had a large living room, a dining room, and a kitchen. There was a back door off the kitchen that led to a back porch overlooking a scraggly lawn.

"Come on, I'll show you the bedrooms," Ellen said, heading up the stairs. At one end of the upstairs hallway was a master bedroom and bathroom, which would naturally be Ellen's. In the other direction, the hallway led to two smaller bedrooms and a second bathroom.

"You care which room is yours, Beth?" Jo asked, peeking into one of the bedrooms.

"Not really. You?"

"I'll take this one," Jo answered, going into the room closest to the stairs.

Beth gave a shrug and went into the other bedroom. There was a twin bed and a nightstand on one wall, and a bookcase on the other. Beth opened the closet door to reveal empty hangars.

"We'll have to make a shopping run," Ellen remarked from the doorway. Beth started and turned around.

"Yeah, I guess so," she replied. Ellen had lost everything in the Roadhouse fire. Jo still had some stuff in Duluth that she'd have to pick up later. As for Beth, she knew she had left a lot behind in Minneapolis, but she had no idea what had become of her things. Probably stored by the police, and it would be impossible to get anything back without answering a lot of questions she wasn't prepared to answer.

"I need a new computer," she thought aloud. "God, I still can't believe the Roadhouse is gone." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "I can't believe—_Ash_—"

"I know," Ellen said softly. Beth looked up to see the older woman's eyes bright with unshed tears.

Ellen held out a hand, and Beth rushed over to her. They embraced, and Beth felt tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath and buried her face in Ellen's shoulder.

~—~

The weeks passed as they settled into their new lives. As it so happened, a local bar was looking for a new manager, and Ellen was more than qualified. Jo found a job waiting tables, and once Beth got a new computer, she started to locate a respectable amount of freelance web design work.

Of course, those were just day jobs. Their real work was tracking the demons that had escaped the Gate. It was surprising just how little activity they'd been able to find; strange black clouds had been spotted over numerous cities the night the Gate had been opened, but little had seemed to come of it. Things remained ominously quiet, the boys' encounter with the Seven in Nebraska constituting a rather large blip on the otherwise quiet radar.

In the meantime, Beth poured herself into the study of the supernatural. In particular, she made a point to learn as much as she could about demonology: signs of possession, warding techniques, exorcisms, et cetera. Jo gave her an anti-possession charm, and Beth took to wearing it on the same necklace as her curse box key. She also made regular trips to the gun range, and started taking Aikido classes. Perhaps it was overkill, but... if the guys ever needed backup again, or if Ellen and Jo were ever in trouble, Beth wanted to be properly equipped to help. She was done being the helpless bystander.

The three women's other major area of research was crossroads deals. If they couldn't find a way to get Dean out of his deal, he would go to Hell, and Beth knew that would kill Sam. If there was anything she could do to help Dean, she would do it, and she knew Ellen and Jo felt the same way. They chased down every scrap of information they could find about the buying and selling of souls. There were plenty of awful stories about crossroads deals, about Hell hounds and lost souls, but none they could find knew of a way to escape the consequences.

Looking into Beth's hoodoo doll, in the meantime, had been quietly back-burnered. It just didn't seem to matter all that much in the midst of everything else that was going on. Beth was beginning to accept that there probably wasn't any way of getting rid of the doll for good, and somehow, she was okay with that. It was safe, tucked away in its warded box, and deep down, Beth knew that she wouldn't be able to go back to her old life anyway. Not after everything she'd seen and done.

~—~

About a month after they moved in, Beth was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and a scone, on the phone with her mom. It was mid-afternoon, but Beth had only been up for a few hours. She and the Harvelles had adopted semi-nocturnal sleep patterns, staying up until two or three in the morning and then sleeping late. "No, I know Jo from school," Beth lied as Ellen came downstairs and nodded a greeting.

"Well that's good," Kathy replied from the other end of the line. "I worry about you, after that whole thing with Krista and you moving so suddenly..."

"I'm fine, really," Beth insisted, and at least that was the truth.

"Okay, lovey. So how's work?"

"It's fine. I should probably let you go, actually, I should get back to it," Beth lied again. She had told her mother that she was working at a computer repair place.

"All right," Kathy replied, though from her tone Beth could tell she recognized the avoidance tactic. "I love you. Call again soon, okay?"

"Love you, too. Bye."

Once she flipped the phone closed, Beth heaved a heavy sigh.

"Miss them?" Ellen guessed as she finished pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"No," Beth said absently, mind weighted down by the nagging sense of guilt she got every time she talked to her parents nowadays. "I mean—yeah, but... that's not the problem. I just feel like all I ever do anymore is avoid them or lie to them."

"You've got good reasons," Ellen pointed out as she came over and sat by Beth.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I still feel like a shitty daughter."

"Hey," Ellen said, taking on that familiar, stubborn-yet-kind demeanor Beth knew so well by now. "At least you're still making an effort. A lot of folks in your situation would just shut their family out completely. You're being as open as you can with them without putting them in danger, and that takes a hell of a lot of effort and heartache. I'm proud of you for it."

Beth looked over at Ellen—this incredible woman who had extended her so much kindness over the last few months, who had welcomed her with open arms and cared for her like her own daughter—and her chest squeezed. Even in the midst of losing her home and her friends and having her life turned upside down, Ellen had still never stopped putting Beth and Jo first.

It was only when Ellen set down her coffee cup and pulled Beth into a hug that Beth realized she had started to cry. "C'mere, hon, it's okay," Ellen crooned to her, stroking her hair.

"I love you, Ellen," Beth sobbed into Ellen's shoulder, because it was true. It wasn't exactly the same kind of love Beth felt for her own mother—Ellen couldn't replace Kathy and wasn't trying to—but it was just as real.

Beth could practically feel Ellen smile. "I love you too, sweetheart."

~—~

On occasion, Beth and the Harvelles would be called in to help Bobby or the Winchesters with research on a specific case. In this instance, Beth was looking into a haunting in Gettysburg which the boys had found particularly vexing. Bobby was off on his own hunt, and Beth had a more flexible work arrangement than the Harvelle women, so the task fell to her.

Usually, it seemed, if research on a haunting was difficult, it was because there were no known deaths at the haunted location; this time, they were having the opposite problem. Way too many people had died in that town, and it made figuring out which one was their ghost a tricky proposition.

The case had some other oddities, as well; all the victims of the spirit had apparently drowned, their lungs filled with water even in dry locations. That didn't make much sense if the spirit was an angry old Civil War soldier killed on the battlefield. Eventually, after far too many hours sorting through grisly Civil War stories, it looked like she had found something. She dialed Sam's number.

"Hey, you got something?" He answered.

"Yeah, I think so," She replied. "You said the ghost was drowning people, right?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "It's weird."

"Well, I was doing some reading about the old seminary building, that one they used as a hospital for a long time after the battle? It turns out that at one point there was flooding because of some heavy rainfall, and the basement of that building flooded. They couldn't get all of the wounded out in time, and some of them drowned."

"Ugh. Yeah, that's gotta be it," he agreed. "Have you found any names?"

"Mmhm, I just emailed you a list. I'll also keep trying to narrow it down."

"Thanks." There was a pause, but it wasn't uncomfortable. "So," Sam began, as if trying to remember how small talk worked, "Research aside, how are things going over there?"

"We're good," she replied, her voice the verbal equivalent of a shrug. "Nothing remarkable going on, pretty much just research and work. Excitement is your guys' department, remember? Bobby told us about the whole rabbit's foot thing, by the way. How's the shoulder?" She kept her tone light, steadfastly ignoring the anxiety she had felt upon hearing that he'd been shot. Even now, days later, her gut twisted a little at the thought of it.

"I'm fine, Beth," He reassured. "It's not like this is the first time I've ever taken a bullet."

"That's supposed to be reassuring?" She replied wryly. "You guys are nuts, have I mentioned that?"

He chuckled. "No argument here."

Beth smiled to herself. She was glad that they could still talk to each other, that the stupid move she'd pulled back at Bobby's hadn't ruined their friendship.

"Well, I should get going on this," He said. "Thanks again for the info."

"Least I can do," She replied warmly. "Be safe, 'kay?"

"Will do. Talk to you later."

"Bye," Beth said, then ended the call. She felt reinvigorated as she set aside her phone and picked up her laptop once more. Activities such as sifting through hundred-and-fifty-year-old death reports weren't exactly fun, but if it meant that she could help people—save others like she herself had been saved—it was worth it.

* * *

[Author's Note: Thanks again for all the follows, favorites, and reviews! We are so glad you're enjoying our story! Fun fact: Gettysburg claims to be the most haunted city in America. The story about the seminary building flooding after the battle, and wounded soldiers being trapped in the basement, is true! If anything was going to be a real-life ghost story, that would be it.]


	18. Cold as Ice

Chapter 18 ~ Cold as Ice

Fall wore on in Mitchell as the months passed, the days growing shorter and colder. Beth's mind was occupied by the usual things: finding web design gigs, tracking omens, her studies of both the occult and of self-defense. She also found herself debating whether to go home for the upcoming holidays. She loved her parents, but it was hard enough just talking to them on the phone lately... she wasn't sure she could handle seeing them in person.

Every night, after Ellen and Jo finished work in the early hours of the morning, all three women would spend a few hours on research, usually sitting together in the living room, books and laptops scattered across the coffee table haphazardly. It became something of a ritual for them, a time to do important work, but also an opportunity to bond over the comfortable predawn quiet.

Some nights, Beth would visit the bar Ellen managed, creatively named "Steve's" after its owner. Particularly when her own work was slow, Beth found she would rather sit at the bar with a drink and keep Ellen company than sit at the house alone, waiting for the Harvelles to return.

On one such occasion, Beth was passing the time people-watching while Ellen crunched sales numbers. The door to the bar banged open and man Beth had never seen before walked in. He looked to be in his late thirties, and he struck Beth with a strong sense that he was out of place. It was partly because this was a small-town bar and most customers were regulars, but more than that, it was the cold, brutal look in his eyes. Beth shivered in spite of herself.

The man walked straight up to the bartender, ignoring the patron who had already been standing there waiting for a drink. "I'm looking for Ellen Harvelle," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"She's in the office," the bartender—a man named Erik—replied. "Hang on a minute."

Beth watched as the man's eyes scanned over the bar. He was alert, but he seemed disinterested in what he saw. Something about the way he carried himself made Beth think of the people she had met at the Roadhouse. And he knew Ellen. Could he be a hunter?

Just then, Ellen came out from the back office, stopping dead when she saw the man. As if he sensed her presence, he turned to her and flashed a downright predatory smile. Beth reached slowly for the pocket knife in her purse.

"Gordon," Ellen greeted in a faux-conversational tone as she came all the way up to the bar counter, her movements tense in a way Beth hadn't seen them since the cemetery in Wyoming. "Out of prison, I see."

"Ellen," he replied smoothly. "I heard about the Roadhouse. Damn shame. Too bad there are so many demons on the loose these days."

His tone had been low enough that most people wouldn't have heard, but Beth caught the mention of demons and felt her heart rate pick up.

"Yeah, it is a damn shame," Ellen said, and Beth did not miss the hint of steel in her voice. "What the hell are you doing here, Gordon?"

"I'm just looking for some information," he replied, spreading his hands. "About the Winchesters."

Beth's eyes widened. She saw a flicker of something—was it fear?—across Ellen's face.

"What do you want with those boys?" Ellen asked.

"I just wanna do my job," Gordon told her. He lowered his voice again, and Beth strained to make out what he was saying. "You know, killing what needs killing."

"I don't know where the Winchesters are," Ellen told him. "And even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you."

Gordon's face flashed anger at that, and he made to grab Ellen's arm. In an instant, the atmosphere in the room changed. Heads snapped around, toward Ellen and the stranger. Beth jumped to her feet, her knife in hand. Ellen moved faster, stepping out of Gordon's reach and drawing a pistol from the holster at her hip. She trained it unflinchingly on Gordon's head. He stared at her, his eyes icy with fury.

"Get the hell out of this bar," Ellen snapped, "Before I call the cops. And don't _ever_ let me see you hanging around here again."

There was a long, tense moment, before Gordon pushed back from the bar in anger. "Fine," he said. "But trust me, you're gonna regret putting your loyalties with the Winchester brothers. Consider it a promise." As he turned to go, his eyes locked on Beth for a moment, sizing her up. Then he was out the door as suddenly as he had come.

Ellen holstered her gun again and nodded to the bartender. "Sorry about that, everyone," she told the customers. "Wouldn't let that bad apple ruin our nice place here."

Instead of going back into the office, she made a bee line for Beth. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Beth said. "Are _you_?"

Ellen nodded. "I'll be better if I never see that rat bastard again."

"Who was he?"

"Man by the name of Gordon Walker. He's the worst kind of hunter you can imagine—cold, ruthless. He enjoys killing, and he won't let anything get in the way of finishing a job."

"Why is he after Sam and Dean?" Beth breathed.

"I wish I knew," Ellen told her. "He seems even more unstable than the last time I saw him. Whatever he wants, it can't be good."

"We should call them," Beth said apprehensively.

Ellen glanced at her watch. "It's after midnight. God willing, they're getting some sleep. Let's call them tomorrow and give them the heads up."

~—~

Ellen closed up at the bar and she and Beth drove home. Jo had already gotten off of work and was sitting on the couch researching. She offered them a warm smile as they came in.

"Hey, hon," Ellen said, shrugging off her coat and picking up some books she had been working through the night before. "You'll never guess who came into the bar tonight."

"Who?"

"Gordon Walker."

Jo's face grew serious. "What did he want?"

"Information about Sam and Dean," Ellen said, matching Jo's tone.

"That can't be good," Jo said.

"Agreed," Beth said. "We're going to call and fill them in tomorrow."

They had a plan, Beth told herself. It would all be fine. In the meantime, they had their nightly research ritual. Beth settled down into a chair with her laptop, pulling up the file where she'd been keeping track of potential demonic omens.

It was late, maybe three in the morning, when the front door of the house suddenly slammed open. For all her training over the past several months, Beth was still no hunter; she was blindsided and off-guard as Gordon and another man burst into the room. The Harvelles reacted more quickly, but neither had their weapons within arm's reach, and the intruders both had guns in-hand and at the ready.

Gordon and his partner were two contrasting pictures of crazy. The guy Beth didn't recognize had a gleam of fanaticism in his eyes and the faintest hint of an unhinged smile on his lips, like for some reason he was oh-so-proud of himself for being there. Gordon, meanwhile, had the icy stare of someone who stone cold couldn't give a fuck what happened to anyone who got in his way.

"God damn it, Kubrick," Ellen hissed as she raised her hands and got to her feet. "You're the one who busted Gordon out of jail?"

"We have important work to do," Kubrick replied, his smile breaking out in earnest.

"Like going after other hunters?" Jo spat.

"No, just monsters," Gordon corrected, his voice as calm and smooth as his expression. It sent a shiver down Beth's spine.

"Our fight isn't with you, Ellen," Kubrick reassured. "Just tell us where the Winchesters are, and we'll be on our way, no harm, no foul."

Beth felt a sharp pang of indignant anger. She couldn't believe that these guys were actually _hunting_ the Winchesters. Then a thought occurred to her. "Wait, because of the Devil's Gate?" She remembered what Dean had said about hunters being dicks. "You've gotta be kidding me, that wasn't their fault."

Just like in the bar, Gordon turned his hard gaze to Beth. "So this the stray you picked up, huh?" he said to Ellen.

"Don't you dare touch her," Ellen growled.

"Hey, I don't hurt humans," Gordon said, though Beth had a hard time believing him. "But we both know Sam Winchester's not human."

"What?" Beth blurted out unintentionally.

"He's nuts," Ellen reassured, and there wasn't even the slightest trace of doubt in her voice.

"He's got you all fooled," Kubrick insisted, that sparkle of crazy dancing in his eyes, "We've seen what he really is."

Jo snorted. "What's that, the tooth fairy?"

"Sam Winchester is the Antichrist!" Kubrick shouted.

Beth utterly failed to suppress a burst of laughter at that. It really wasn't funny, but good God was it absurd.

In one swift movement, Gordon was in front of her, grabbing the front of her shirt. "You think this is funny?"

"I told you not to touch her," Ellen snarled, surging forward, but Kubrick knocked her back with the butt of his shotgun, sending her skidding across the floor.

"Mom!" Jo shouted. Gordon pointed his pistol directly at her, still holding onto Beth with his other hand. Jo froze.

"So what," Ellen said as she pulled herself up onto an elbow, wiping a trickle of blood from her newly split lip. "I tell you where the Winchesters are or you kill my girls?"

"If that's what it takes," Gordon replied evenly.

"Wait..." Kubrick said, picking up Ellen's phone from the coffee table. "I have a better idea."


	19. Dead Man Walking

[Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in publishing a new chapter. Real life got in the way. But we're still here and still publishing! Thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews!]

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Chapter 19 ~ Dead Man Walking

With brutal efficiency, Kubrick and Gordon tied the three women to dining chairs from the kitchen. Beth struggled, of course, and Jo managed to land a solid elbow in Kubrick's face, but Gordon kept his gun at the ready, and there wasn't much they could do unarmed.

Kubrick's plan was infuriatingly effective. He and Gordon didn't actually need the women to give up the Winchesters' location. Instead, they just texted Sam from Ellen's phone and asked _him_ where he was. It took mere minutes for Sam, polite young man that he was, to reply back with everything they needed to know.

Gordon pulled Kubrick aside so they could have a hushed conversation. Beth twisted her wrists, skin chafing painfully against the rope, trying to work the knots loose.

She heard Kubrick asking, "What are we gonna do with them?"

"We can't just leave them to warn the Winchesters," Gordon answered.

Beth couldn't make out Kubrick's reply, but whatever it was seemed to placate Gordon. As Kubrick went back outside, Gordon came back over to the women.

"Today's your lucky day, you know," he commented.

"What, because your partner won't let you shoot us? Bite me," Ellen replied.

Gordon just chuckled. "We're not the bad guys here. Maybe once Sam's gone you'll realize it."

"Don't get so cocky," Jo spat. "The guys are still better hunters than you, you're not gonna be able to take them out."

"We'll see about that," Gordon replied dismissively.

When Kubrick returned, he was carrying a bottle and a rag. "Nighty night, ladies," he said as he walked straight towards Ellen.

"Oh, don't you d—" Ellen was cut off when Kubrick held the rag over her mouth and nose. Her head rolled forward limply a few moments later.

"Is that fucking _chloroform_?" Beth asked, but instead of an answer she got a rag to the face. As soon as she inhaled the fumes, she felt her consciousness start to slip away.

~—~

Beth woke to the sound of Ellen calling her name. When she opened her eyes, she found that the room was flooded with early afternoon light. She blinked, more because of the fuzziness in her head than the light.

"You with me, sweetie?" Ellen asked.

"Think so," Beth mumbled. She forced herself to try to process her surroundings. Ellen was crouched in front of her, checking Beth's pulse, and Jo was in the process of cutting Beth free.

"Why'm I the last one up?" Beth asked as the thought drifted into her mind.

"'Cause you're a lightweight," Jo teased, although her own voice was ever-so-slightly slurred.

Beth grumbled wordlessly because it was true. She had an infuriatingly low alcohol tolerance, despite the fact that she was larger than Jo.

As her head began to clear, she remembered the previous night. Her heart began to pound. "Fuck! Sam! We have to warn him!"

Ellen's voice was calm and steady. "We will in a minute, as soon as all three of us are thinking straight again. A warning won't be very helpful if we can't keep track of the details."

Beth scrubbed her face with her newly mobile arms. "Yeah, you're right... I'm still pretty out of it. What about you guys, you both okay?"

"Groggy," Jo admitted as she finished sawing through the ropes. "But I'll live."

"Same here," Ellen said. If she really _did_ feel groggy, she was certainly covering it like a pro. Not that that would surprise Beth in the slightest.

Ellen made her way back to the coffee table. Her hand hovered over her phone for a second, but then she grabbed Beth's instead. She hit a few buttons, and Beth heard it ringing through the speaker.

"Beth, are you okay?" Came Sam's voice, fuzzy over the cheap phone speaker.

"We're fine," Ellen said, "But Gordon Walker is out to kill you, and he knows where you are. That text last night was from him."

"Yeah, we figured," Sam replied, much to Beth's surprise. "We already ran into him once," he explained. "Given the timing, we thought he'd gotten his hands on your phone."

Ellen nodded to herself. "You know he's got Kubrick with him?"

"Not anymore. Kubrick's dead."

"Good," Jo said bluntly.

Sam sighed. "Except it wasn't us. We just found him in his RV with a massive hole in his gut. We think it was Gordon."

"_What?_" Ellen asked before Beth could form the word.

"It looks like Gordon's been turned, probably by the vampire we were chasing when he jumped us."

"Shit. So you're not just being chased by a skilled hunter, you're being chased by a skilled _superhuman_ hunter," Ellen summarized.

"Yep. And we can't find him."

"Okay," Ellen said, clearly thinking through the situation in her mind. "You two are gonna need backup, we'll head your way asap. Sit tight until then."

"Ellen—" Sam began.

"Don't you argue with me, boy. We're coming."

"Okay, fine. Call when you get close and we'll find somewhere to meet up."

"Will do. See you in a couple hours."

Ellen hung up with a weary sigh, passing the phone back to Beth. "Jo, honey, you still got your machetes?"

Jo grinned deviously. "Of course I do, they're out in the car."

~—~

The three women were about a half hour away when Beth's phone rang. "It's Sam," she said, switching it to speaker and then answering. "Hey, something happen?"

"Gordon just called us, telling us to come meet him. He's got a hostage."

"Shit," Ellen said. Beth thought she would try to tell the boys not to go, but instead she just asked, "Where?"

"A factory on Riverside, off the turnpike," he supplied. "Twenty minute deadline."

Jo changed lanes and stepped on the accelerator without a moment's hesitation.

"Alright, we'll get there as fast as we can. Try not to get yourselves killed."

He chuckled. "We'll do our best. See you there."

~—~

The right building was easy enough to find, especially since the Impala was already parked out front. Quietly, the women got out of the Thunderbird and retrieved their machetes from the trunk, then cautiously approached the factory's main door. Just as Ellen moved to open it, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the building. All three women broke into a run, searching for the fight that was doubtlessly already underway.

They could hear the sounds of a struggle before they actually found it, two loud crashes in quick succession. It only took a minute for them to find their way into the right room, but it felt like an eternity.

The scene they found when they rounded the corner was bloody and chaotic. Dean was slumped against a wall, blood oozing from a bite on his neck. Gordon was slamming Sam's head into some sort of workbench. Sam grabbed something and turned, wrapping it around Gordon's neck. Beth realized with a rush of horror that it was a length of razor wire. Gordon made a sort of gagging noise, vampiric teeth bared, while Sam strained with the effort, blood oozing out between his fingers.

Then Jo swept forward with her machete, severing Gordon's head with one smooth, almost elegant movement.

Sam dropped the razor wire, panting, and then looked down at his torn up hands like he was in shock.

Beth, meanwhile, was confident that if she looked at Gordon's dismembered body, she would promptly lose her lunch. As such, she decided to head for the other side of the room and check on Dean. He was just beginning to stir, putting a hand to the wound on his neck and trying to stand up.

"Hey, take it easy," Beth said, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him back down. He lacked either the strength or the will to resist. "How are you doing? Dizzy? Faint?"

"I'll be fine," he insisted, though his voice was rough and weak. "Didn't need that blood anyway."

"We'll get you patched up," Ellen reassured him as she walked up beside Beth.

Sam limped over to them, Jo following a step behind. "He okay?" Sam asked breathlessly.

"I'm fine," Dean repeated irritably, his voice stronger now. "Did you just charge a super vamped-out Gordon with no weapon?"

Sam shrugged in response. He looked exhausted.

"And _I'm_ the reckless one?" Dean grumbled, reaching a hand towards Jo. She took it and helped pull him up.

Now that Sam was closer, Beth sized up his condition. He had a nosebleed, one eyebrow was split open, and all of his movements were stiff and ginger. And then there were his hands; Beth couldn't really tell how bad they were because his palms were completely covered in blood.

"God," she breathed, "You look like _crap_."

Sam just smiled weakly and shrugged again. "At least I'm not dead?"

Stiffly, Dean bent down and picked up an old revolver from where it lay on the ground nearby. It looked sort of familiar, though Beth couldn't place why.

"Wait, is that the Colt?" Jo asked. "I thought it was useless now."

Dean chuckled, like he was appreciating the absurdity of the situation. "Believe it or not, a _demon_ helped us fix it."

"It's a long story," Sam said before any of the women could respond. "We'll fill you in once we're not bleeding everywhere."

"All right, hon. Let's get out of here," Ellen said, putting a gentle hand to Sam's back and leading him—and the rest of the group—back towards the exit.


	20. A Haunting in South Dakota

Chapter 20 ~ A Haunting in South Dakota

December came and went. Ultimately, Beth didn't go home for the holidays, giving her parents the feeble excuse that she only had a few days off of work. She had claimed that Christmas was a busy time of the year, that people would be coming in to get help in figuring out how all their new electronic toys worked. She had no idea if they'd bought it; they had certainly seemed disappointed, but that was nothing new.

Instead, Beth had Christmas with the Harvelles, and bonding with her new family almost made up for her inability to see her old one. Jo bought Beth her own shotgun, and Ellen made sure the scotch was free-flowing. Beth gave both women scarves and hats she had struggled to crochet, and took the liberty of lining the walkway up to the front door with luminarias. It wasn't like Christmas with her folks, but it felt like home nonetheless.

Shortly after the holiday, as they were all relaxing in the living room, enjoying a rare day off, Ellen's phone rang.

"This is Ellen... Yeah, the girls are right here. Hang on, let me put you on speaker."

Beth looked up from her laptop as Ellen hit a button on her phone and held it out so they could hear Bobby's voice coming through.

"Jo, Beth," Bobby said by way of greeting.

"Hey, Bobby," Beth replied. "What's up?"

Bobby huffed out a sigh. "I hate to bother you all, but I've got a situation and nobody to handle it."

"What's going on?" Jo asked.

"Sounds like a haunting out in the Black Hills. One casualty. Witness claims he saw furniture moving around by itself a few days before he came home and found his wife dead on the floor. No signs of forced entry, and no reason anyone would want her dead."

"And what do you want us to do about it?" Ellen asked. "Do I need to remind you, we're not hunters?"

"Mom," Jo said, rolling her eyes.

"Listen, this is hardly a major problem in the grand scheme of things, what with all the demons on the loose these days. But every hunter I know is tied up, and if somebody doesn't get on this, more people are gonna die." Bobby sounded irritated as he continued, "You're the closest people to it, so I'm _asking_ you to help me out."

Ellen looked like she was about to object again, but Jo interrupted. "We'll take care of it, Bobby."

"Thanks," Bobby said. "I'll send you what I've got."

Ellen snapped her phone shut, ending the call, and glared at her daughter. "Joanna Beth Harvelle..." she began.

"Mom," Jo cut her off. "I _can_ actually handle myself on a hunt. I've been doing this solo for a while, remember?"

"I remember you nearly getting killed on more than one occasion," Ellen shot back, her voice tight.

"It'll be fine," Jo told her. "Simple angry spirit. Get in, find the bones, burn the bones, get out. You heard Bobby—the other hunters are swamped. I should be out there helping. I _want_ to be out there helping."

Ellen didn't respond, but her face looked suddenly weary.

"I'll go with you," Beth said. Perhaps she was being impulsive, but it just seemed to make sense. Beth knew she was inexperienced, but she had enough proper training that she would be an asset to Jo, rather than a hinderance.

The other two women turned to look at her. Ellen's expression was alarmed, Jo's grateful. "Oh, no," Ellen said. "I told you not to get caught up in all this."

"I can watch Jo's back," Beth said. "It'll be safer with two of us."

"She's right," Jo reasoned. To Beth, she said, "I'd appreciate the backup."

Ellen sighed. "I guess I'm not going to be able to talk you out of it."

"We'll be careful, I promise," Beth reassured. Ellen just folded her arms and turned to stare out the window, shaking her head.

~—~

"So," Beth said, once she and Jo were in the car and on their way to Black Hills, "Ghosts. They're vulnerable to salt and iron, right?"

"Yep," Jo confirmed, eyes on the road. "Standard operating procedure is to figure out who the ghost was, then dig 'em up and salt and burn their bones. If that doesn't work, or if they were already cremated, it means the spirit is tied to some object, so you have to find that and burn it."

"Grave desecration... Such a glamorous occupation, this."

"You didn't have to come," Jo reminded, though she glanced over with a smile.

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to make myself useful."

The miles fell away under the wheels of the T-Bird. Before long, they were approaching the little town Bobby had named as the site of the haunting. Jo rolled to a stop on Main Street.

"Okay, so we're gonna need to check out the house and interview the husband. Our best bet is probably to say we're reporters."

"Reporters poking around a strange death?" Beth asked.

"Pretty much. We'll say we're from Rapid City, that'll explain why strangers are showing up in such a small town. It's a weird enough story that people might be investigating."

"Okay, sounds good," said Beth. "I'll let you take the lead."

"Yeah. I've got a fake ID for myself, lists my name as Jennifer Harrison. I'll say you're an intern who's shadowing me, since you don't have a badge. What name do you want to use?"

Beth hadn't even considered that. "Uh. How about... Ellie Mitchell?"

"Sure, sounds good. Let's go talk to a grieving husband."

~—~

It was bizarre, walking up to a stranger's house to grill him for information about his dead wife. Beth fell in a step behind Jo as the other woman ascended the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

The man who answered the door looked about as grief-striken as Beth had expected. "Can I help you?" He asked wearily.

"Hi, James Richards?" Jo said with a caring smile as she flashed her ID. "My name is Jennifer Harrison, and I'm from the Rapid City Journal. This is Ellie Mitchell, one of our interns. I'm very sorry for your loss. We're writing a piece about your late wife, and I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions?"

The man looked from Jo to Beth and back suspiciously. "Couldn't you have just called? And why are you writing about Linda, anyway?"

"Well," Jo answered smoothly, politely inserting herself into the entryway as she spoke. "Your wife was a well-loved member of the community, and the circumstances of her death were... tragic. We thought it would be appropriate to do something more than an obituary."

Beth followed Jo and James into a living room, where he absently gestured at the sofa before falling into an armchair and rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"What do you want to know about Linda?"

Jo started with some polite questions about Linda's life, her family, her hobbies. Finally, she steered the conversation towards what they really needed to know.

"I gather from what you told the police that you noticed some strange things happening in the days before your wife died?"

He gave her an odd look. "I don't see what that would have to do with your article." When Jo didn't retract the question, he sighed. "All right, yes. It was like, every time I turned my back, the furniture was moving. Things were going missing, then turning up in plain sight where I'm sure they hadn't been. I thought I was going crazy. Now I wonder if some sicko was breaking in to our house, toying with us before—before he—"

Jo's voice modulated, growing gentler. "And you're the one who found Linda afterwards?"

James nodded, swallowed hard. "I came home from work. She was just lying on the kitchen floor. There was so—so much blood. She looked like she had been run over by a truck or something. It was awful."

"But the police didn't find any signs of a struggle or a break-in? No weapons?"

James nodded again. "No one can explain what happened to her. Now could you please leave me alone?"

"Of course," Jo said. "Could I maybe use your bathroom before heading out, though?"

"Sure," he replied. "It's down that hall, on the left."

"Thanks," Jo said, standing and heading in that direction.

There were several seconds of awkward silence after she left before Beth decided she might as well try to get some additional information. "You have a lovely home, Mr. Richards," she commented, doing her best to play the nervous intern who was just trying to make conversation.

"Thank you," he replied, disinterested.

"It seems to have a lot of character. Do you have any idea when it was built?"

"Sometime in the twenties, I think."

"Wow, I wouldn't have guessed," she lied. "So does the wiring give you a lot of trouble?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, the lights flicker sometimes, and the heating can be flaky on occasion. Old houses are like that."

Before Beth could think of any more questions, Jo emerged from the hallway. "We'll get out of your hair, now. Thank you for your time, Mr. Richards." She nodded to Beth, and the two women let themselves out. Once James had closed the door behind them, Jo said, "The place is positive for EMF."

"So that's what you were up to," Beth remarked. "I chatted with the husband a little more while you were doing that, and it sounds like he's got flickering lights and maybe cold spots, as well."

"Good to know," Jo said. "So we're definitely dealing with a poltergeist, here."

~—~

After finishing up at the Richards house, Beth and Jo headed to the local library to look for information on the house's history. Given how old the place was, it came as no surprise when they found absolutely nothing useful online, so then it was on to hardcopy research. Beth took old newspapers, while Jo worked on town records. It was painfully slow going.

After several hours, Jo emerged from an old records room and headed over to the table where Beth was working.

"Have something?" Beth asked.

"Yep," Jo replied, taking a seat beside Beth and setting down a stack of old documents. "Looks like back in the '20s and '30s, that house was the main building of the Olson family farm. In '36, the head of the family, Jacob was killed by his son Martin in a tractor accident. Martin went to jail, and without a patriarch, things went to shit for the rest of the family."

"So our ghost is Jacob?" Beth surmised.

"Looks like it. It would explain all the damage to Linda's body."

"Okay. So where's he buried?"

"That I haven't quite figured out."

Beth sighed. More hardcopy research. "Okay, I'll look for obituaries."

~—~

It was a long slog through yellowing, eighty-year-old documents, but they had managed to figure out where Jacob was buried—a cemetery attached to an old Lutheran church. That night, Jo and Beth headed out to the site with shovels, lighter fluid, salt, and matches.

The moon was close to new, so it was almost completely dark out. The tombstones were worn almost to the point of being illegible. Beth swung her flashlight beam over each one, struggling to make out the names.

Eventually, the two women found their target: the grave of one Jacob Olson. Two things rapidly became apparent to Beth: first, that digging up a coffin was a major undertaking, and second, that she was still, when it came down to it, a largely sedentary computer nerd. By the time their shovels struck the lid of the coffin, Beth felt like her arms were about to fall off.

"Okay," Jo said as she wiped sweat off her forehead, only slightly out of breath. "Spirits don't usually take kindly to people torching their bones, so be ready."

Beth nodded in response, and they pulled themselves out of the grave. As Beth grabbed the industrial-sized box of salt, Jo used her shovel to pry the coffin open.

"Ugh," Beth remarked, holding a sleeve over her nose as she looked down as the desiccated old corpse.

"Be glad it's this old," Jo said as she reached for the lighter fluid. "Watch my back."

Beth nodded and picked her shotgun up. As Jo sprayed the lighter fluid over the corpse, there was a roaring sound. Before Beth could react, the spirit appeared to her left. She only caught a glimpse of him, but Jacob Olson was messy, his legs completely mangled. The injuries that killed him didn't slow his spirit down. Some kind of force picked Beth up and flung her ten feet through the air. Her back slammed into a headstone before she collapsed to the ground, the air knocked out of her lungs. It hurt to breathe. She didn't even want to try to move.

Then she heard Jo shout as the spirit of Jacob Olson turned his attention to her. Groaning, Beth forced herself to her feet, hissing at the pain in her ribs. Shaking her head to clear it, Beth looked for Jo. The spirit had her on the run, darting between the graves in the shadow of the old church.

Beth started towards Jo and the spirit. Jo saw her and shouted, "Light him up!"

With newfound determination, Beth fumbled for the book of matches Jo had given her. She tried to light one, cursing when it snapped in her trembling fingers. The second match lit, however, and she tossed it into the grave just as she heard Jo's shotgun go off.

Turning, Beth saw the spirit go up in flames just like the bones. A moment later, it was gone.

Jo staggered back to the grave, and the two women glanced at each other, looking for serious injuries.

"Well," Jo said, "Congratulations. You just finished your first hunt."


	21. Interlude II: Ellen

Chapter 21 ~ Interlude II ~ Ellen

A heart can only break so many times.

Ellen still remembered, as vividly as if it had just happened, the day when John Winchester came back from that hunt without Bill. John had refused to meet her eyes, but his face had been pinched and shadowed with regret, and Ellen had felt her heart break.

Before that, she'd always assumed that 'broken heart' was just an expression, but it was real, a physical thing. She felt as though her heart had fractured in two and she was slowly bleeding out into her ribcage. She thought she might actually die of it.

But when she went out and found Jo asleep, curled up in the passenger seat of that junker Bill had bought her, the one they were going to rebuild together, Ellen knew she wouldn't die of a broken heart. Jo needed her. Jo needed her mom. She climbed into the car and wrapped herself around her daughter, and they cried together. They cried together a lot in the weeks after that.

The day the Winchester boys walked into the Roadhouse, and Jo walked out with them to a life of hunting, Ellen felt that same awful feeling in her chest. Bill and John, Jo and Dean and Sam. She hated the Winchesters for their recklessness, cursed Jo for her courage, and sweated until Jo was back in her arms again, safe and sound.

The worst part was the waiting, the not-knowing, the endless what-ifs. It was hard when Jo moved to Duluth. Ellen had never wanted to be the kind of mother who couldn't let the birds out of the nest to learn to fly, but she hated ending each day wondering if Jo was okay or not.

It was no wonder she felt a protective urge towards Beth when she showed up, scared and confused and getting pulled in by the gravitational field of the Winchesters. Beth wasn't Jo, of course, but Ellen didn't hesitate to extend Beth the same care that she would Jo. The more she got to know Beth, the more Ellen came to respect and appreciate her. In time, she felt like she had adopted the young woman as a second daughter.

When the Roadhouse burned, Ellen's heart broke again, for Ash, for the innocent hunters who'd just been there at the wrong time, for her home, for all the memories she had in that place. It had been Bill's place, she had always felt him there, echoes of his life still bouncing around the hallways. Now the hallways were gone, just charred studs and soot.

They kept going. Hunters always did. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, slap some gauze on that bullet hole, and get back to work. There were Devil's Gates to close and demons to take down. And Ellen needed to put a roof over her daughters' heads, needed to pay the bills, needed to put dinner on the table.

Ellen kept going, fierce and protective as ever. New town, new home, new job, new life. She did what she had to do to take care of her family, and it was nice. Almost peaceful—as peaceful as life ever got for hunters. But when Beth and Jo loaded up the car with shotguns and salt and lighter fluid and drove off together, she just felt numb.

A heart can only break so many times.


	22. Special Delivery

Chapter 22 ~ Special Delivery

It was February, several weeks after Jo and Beth had taken care of the spirit, and the three women were sitting around the living room, half-watching the television. A Valentine's-themed commercial for jewelry was on.

"Maybe Sam'll buy you diamond earrings for Valentine's Day," Jo teased, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Oh, shut up," Beth retorted, rolling her eyes at Jo just as Ellen's phone rang.

"Hello? … Hey Dean," Ellen answered. She listened for a moment, then said, "Yeah, of course. Is Bobby busy or something?" Whatever Dean said next made Ellen's brow furrow disquietly. "Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker." She hit the requisite button on her phone, then said, "Okay, what the hell happened?"

"Short version?" Dean began. "Bobby was in Pittsburgh on a case, looking into a guy who fell into an unexplained coma and died, and now Bobby's in an unexplained coma."

That wasn't at all ominous, Beth thought, as a coil of anxiety uncurled in her gut. It was hard to imagine someone as knowledgeable and capable as Bobby being rendered helpless like that.

Jo cursed. "Any leads on what caused it?"

"Yeah, it looks like someone's using a substance called African dream root to go dreamwalking in Bobby's head, keep him trapped in there. Sam and I need to get our hands on some of the stuff ourselves to we can go try to pull him out. We already tried Bela, but—"

Ellen interrupted, tone sharp. "Bela _Talbot_? The thief?"

"Wait, isn't that the chick who _shot Sam_ a while back?" Beth asked. "You went to _her_ for help?"

"One and the same," Ellen said to Beth, then scolded Dean, "What were you thinking, calling her before us?"

"I don't know," Dean snapped, and for the first time, Beth realized just how worried he was about Bobby. "She... seemed like the person to go to for obscure magical herbs. You need drugs, you find a drug dealer. Anyway, she turned us down, so we could use your help."

"We're honored to be your plan B," Ellen said sarcastically.

Jo was all business. "If anyone would know someone who sells this stuff, it'd be Bobby. I can head over to his place and check his journals and contact books."

"I'll come with," Beth volunteered.

"Okay," Dean said. "Just hurry. The last guy who got sent into a magic coma never woke up."

~—~

The last time Beth had been in Bobby's house, there had been six of them there, scattered around the small library and kitchen. Now, as she and Jo entered, the house felt far too quiet and lifeless, like a cemetery.

As usual, Jo went straight to work. She headed to Bobby's desk, rummaging around for any journals or contact books. "Here," she said, tossing and old journal to Beth.

Beth caught the journal silently and almost instinctively sank down onto the couch, carefully opening the old book and skimming through the hand-written pages. Bobby was always pulling everyone else's asses out of the fire; now it was time to return the favor.

~—~

It only took Beth and Jo a couple hours with Bobby's library to track down an apothecary that carried African dream root. The owner's prices were exorbitant, but time was critical and they didn't have any other options. They reserved an order over the phone, then headed straight for St. Louis, driving through the night. Once they had the dream root, they grabbed some caffeine pills, switched drivers and made their way onward to Pittsburgh.

The sky was dark by the time they finally reached the motel where the guys were staying. Beth and Jo headed straight for the Winchesters' room with their package.

When Dean opened the door, the first thing he said was, "Hey, what took you so long?"

"We just came from South Dakota, jackass," Jo replied, pushing past him and depositing the brown paper bag of dream root on the nearest table. "One hundred percent pure African dream root. The guy we bought it from said it was some serious mojo."

"We really appreciate it," Sam said, getting up from where he was sitting at the desk. He looked as worried as Dean had sounded on the phone.

"Of course," Beth said, giving him a tight smile. "We're happy to help out, especially if Bobby's in trouble. So what's the game plan? You two go in while we keep an eye on your bodies?"

Dean cracked a juvenile grin, which he quickly suppressed at the sight of Jo's glare. "Uh, yeah, sounds good."

Sam wasted no time in preparing the tea, and once it was brewed, Beth found herself immensely grateful that she wasn't the one drinking it. The stuff smelled vile, and its frothy, sickly yellow appearance didn't make it any more appealing.

Jo apparently agreed with her. "That looks like warm piss," she said flatly.

"Thanks, you're a big help," Sam shot back as he carried the two mugs over to the beds, handing one to his brother.

"Well, shall we dim the lights and sync up Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of the Moon?" Dean joked.

Sam just responded with a confused smile. "Why?"

Beth had to laugh at that. "Seriously, dude, even _I_ get that reference, and I've pretty much never had a life."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's Sammy for you." He started to raise the mug to his lips, but Sam interrupted him.

"Wait wait wait!" He exclaimed, pulling a small manilla pouch from his shirt pocket. "Can't forget this." He pulled out a pinch of whatever was inside and placed it in Dean's palm.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked.

"Bobby's hair."

"We have to drink Bobby's hair?" Dean asked, revolted.

"That's how you control whose dream you're entering," Sam explained, "You gotta... drink some of their, uh... some of their body."

"Well that's charming," Beth remarked. She held back on the obvious Harry Potter reference under the rationale that Dean would, doubtlessly, never respect her again.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the hair in his hand before tossing it in. "Well, I guess the hair of the dog's better than _other_ parts of the body."

"I... really didn't need that mental image," Jo said.

"Yeah, how do you think I feel?" Dean replied. He sighed, then lifted the mug. "Bottoms up."

"Yeah," Sam said as he returned the toast. Then, in unison, they drank.

Before they could even lower their empty mugs, both Winchesters' eyelids drooped shut, and in the next instant they both flopped back onto their respective beds, sound asleep.

Beth sighed, walking forward to collect the filthy mugs. "Sitting around waiting really sucks," she observed.

"Yeah, pretty much," Jo agreed.

~—~

"Ugh," Beth said, rubbing her face. It had been about forty-five long, _agonizingly_ dull minutes since the guys had started their little vision quest, and she and Jo were both fighting to stay awake themselves. "I'm gonna go find some manner of food, you want anything?"

"Sure," Jo replied from where she lounged lethargically on the threadbare couch. She fished in her pocket for the keys to the Thunderbird and tossed them to Beth. "Why don't you call me when you find a place?"

"Deal." Beth said as she caught the keys and headed for the door.

On the way out of the motel lobby, Beth couldn't help but notice a woman walking in the other direction, back towards the guest rooms, who seemed totally out of place. She was quite beautiful, with subtle makeup, a stylish, layered haircut and a designer handbag. More than that, something about how she carried herself stood out—her posture was confident, almost arrogant. She practically exuded the air of someone who came from money, which made Beth wonder what she was doing in a cheap motel at almost two in the morning.

Beth shook her head at herself as she stepped out into the night. Spending so much time around hunters was making her _nosy_. She really needed to recover her sense of decorum.


	23. Sweet Dreams

Chapter 23 ~ Sweet Dreams

It was well after sunrise when the boys, once more in unison, sat bolt-upright, breathing heavily.

Beth was on her feet before she knew it, heading to that side of the room. "Hey, you guys okay? What happened with Bobby?"

"Yeah, we're okay," Sam said, glancing at Dean again, as if for confirmation. "You did it? You got him out?"

"I think so," Dean replied. "Let's get over to the hospital to make sure."

~—~

Bobby's hospital room was abuzz with activity when they arrived. A lab tech was at one side of the bed drawing blood, while a nurse was on the other side checking Bobby's vitals. Meanwhile, Bobby was talking to the doctor.

"I already told you I didn't take anything," Bobby insisted. "You've got more than enough of my damn blood to check for yourself."

"I'm just being thorough," the doctor said in a long-suffering tone. "I'm ordering an MRI to make sure there's no neurological damage, but we should have you out of here by the end of the day."

"Good," Bobby said.

"I'll be back to talk to you when your test results are in," the doctor said, before making his exit, sparing a quick nod of acknowledgement to Jo, Beth, and the brothers as he passed.

"Good to see you conscious," Dean said from the doorway with a grin. "You had us worried for a while there."

"Good to be conscious," Bobby agreed. "Wasn't expecting to see you girls," he added.

"Yeah, well, Dean and Sam were a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing," Jo said as they gathered around the foot of Bobby's bed. "Figured they needed backup." With a glance at the hospital staff, she added, "You know, for emotional support."

With a tired smile for Bobby's visitors, the nurse finished up what he was doing and left them in peace. The technician followed a few minutes later.

"So," Bobby said when the hunters had a modicum of privacy. "I'm guessing you boys didn't end up using dream root to pull me out just by chance. How much have you picked up about the case I've been working?"

Together, they managed to piece together a decent picture of what had happened. The original victim, Dr. Gregg, had been studying African dream root in relation to sleep disorders. Gregg cut off one of his test subjects, a college kid by the name of Jeremy Frost, and Frost killed the doctor in retaliation. Then, when Bobby showed up to investigate, Frost went after him as well.

That was when they realized Frost had gotten Bobby's DNA from the beer the kid had offered the hunter. And, of course, Dean had fallen for exactly the same ruse.

"Meaning that Dean is this Jeremy kid's next target," Beth concluded as Dean rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Yeah, so no sleeping for you, boy," warned Bobby. "Not 'till we're sure Frost is out of commission."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Dean replied. "Let's put this sucker down sooner rather than later."

~—~

Beth had to wonder if it was possible, in this brave new world of monsters and demons and magic, for someone to literally disappear off the face of the Earth, because that seemed to be exactly what Jeremy Frost had done. They had spent the last two days trying to track the little bastard down, to no avail.

Bobby was handling the sleep deprivation with remarkable stoicism. He was cranky as all hell, of course, but that was pretty much par for the course with him anyway. Dean, meanwhile, appeared to be on a slow downward spiral into insanity. He was hopped up on so much coffee that Beth was worried his heart was going to give out, and he seemed incapable of speaking in anything less than a shout.

Bobby, Beth, and Jo had spent most of that time cooped up in the girls' motel room. Bobby had been making phone calls, posing as an FBI agent, while Jo consulted a Ouija board and a deck of Tarot cards. Beth focused on trying to hack into Frost's email and Facebook and the like, hoping to find some evidence of his recent whereabouts. Thus far, she had turned up absolutely nothing useful.

Eventually, Bobby got up, scrubbing his face with one hand. "I'm gonna see if the boys have gotten anywhere," he said, pulling out his cellphone. Dean was on speed dial, Beth noticed. Naturally.

"Strip club was a bust, huh? … That was our last lead," Bobby muttered. Beth could hear Dean shout, "What the hell, Bobby!"

Bobby bristled. "Don't yell at me, boy, I'm workin' my ass off here! … Well who ain't? … Nope. Beth's tryin' to work some computer magic, but the kid knows how to cover his tracks. … Dean? Damn it," he cursed, tucking the phone away.

Beth sighed. "I'm sorry, Bobby, I wish I was some sort of movie-style hacker genius, but..."

"Nonsense," he dismissed, "You're doing the best you can."

She smiled thinly. "Well, I'd better get back to it. I'll check the university's records, see if I can find any other clues."

Bobby sighed. "Let's just hope Dean doesn't do something stupid in the meantime..."

It wasn't until more than three hours later, when Bobby's phone rang once again, that they discovered the boys had, in fact, done something stupid.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the front display. "It's Dean," he informed the women before flipping the phone open and hitting the speaker button.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Bobby," Dean said, sounding tired, maybe even shaken. "We did it, Frost is dead."

"What? How in the hell'd you find him?" Bobby glanced up at Jo and Beth, whose faces mirrored his concern.

"We, uh, we fell asleep. Let him find us."

"You what?" Bobby snapped. "Of all the reckless... I oughta tear you a new one, y'know that? Damn fool!"

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Dean responded, his own voice sharp. "We went to dreamland, we killed the bastard. It's over."

"Fine. Just get your asses back to the motel," Bobby sighed in exasperation as he flipped his phone shut.

Jo smiled wryly and shook her head. "I guess it shouldn't surprise us that they'd pull a stunt like that..."

"So it's over? Case closed?" Beth asked.

Bobby shrugged. "Seems like. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I'm gonna get some goddamn sleep of my own."

~—~

After everyone had gotten a good night's sleep, they reconvened in Sam and Dean's motel room while the boys finished packing up.

Beth watched Sam zip up his duffel and felt a pang of regret. She had enjoyed working this job with them, even if she hadn't done much to help. She found herself wishing they didn't have to part ways again so soon.

Her reflections were interrupted when Dean spoke. "Sammy, did you already pack the Colt?" He sounded on-edge.

"What?" Sam replied, turning to look at Dean, who was standing by the open—and empty—motel safe. "No, I haven't touched it."

"Then where the hell is it?" Dean snapped. "I left it right here."

"Sounds like you boys've been robbed," Bobby drawled.

Dean cursed, fluently enough to impress even the foul-mouthed Beth. He kicked over a chair.

"It had to be someone who knew how valuable the thing is, right?" Jo reasoned. "I mean, they left the computers, the other guns... this doesn't look like some random crime of opportunity."

"Damn it," said Dean, "Bela. It has to be."

"You think so?" Sam asked.

"She knew we were here, and she knew we would be distracted trying to save Bobby. Damn it, I knew we never should've called that bitch!"

Beth was debating whether this was the right time and place to object to Dean's choice of insult when a thought struck her. "Wait. What does this Bela look like?"

"Uh, a few inches taller than you, light brown hair, pretty..." Sam supplied. "Why?"

"Well dressed?"

"Yeah, generally."

"Fuck. I think I saw her, the first night we were here," Beth explained. "I should've known she was some kind of bad news..."

"Where?" Dean asked tersely.

"Just in the lobby. I only noticed her because she looked way too rich to be staying in a motel like this."

"She must have been watching us, waiting for an opportunity to sneak in," Jo surmised. "Probably when we were all at the hospital..."

"Damn it!" Dean cursed again. "We have to track her down. Without the Colt, we are royally screwed."

Because Dean's deal was getting closer and closer to coming due, and now they had lost the one weapon that might be able to kill whatever demon held the contract. Just like that, the sense of satisfaction and relief from their completed hunt evaporated, and harsh reality came crashing down on them.

~—~

Once they discovered that Bela had stolen the Colt, the Winchesters didn't wait around. They loaded up the Impala and were back on the road again in under an hour. Beth gave Sam a quick hug goodbye, with a promise to help them locate Bela as soon as possible.

Bobby declared that he needed one more night of decent sleep before he would be ready to drive back to South Dakota, and Jo and Beth elected to stick around as well so they could caravan back with Bobby.

The next morning, Beth was sitting on her motel bed, checking her email while she waited for Jo to get out of the shower. There was a knock at the door.

Beth got up and let Bobby into the room. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

Bobby shrugged. "Still pretty beat, but I'll live." He stepped the rest of the way inside and leaned against the wall. "I wanted you to know—you did good on this one, kid."

"Thanks, but I didn't really do all that much," she replied.

"Sure you did," Bobby insisted. "I'd've been screwed if you and Jo hadn't gotten that dream root, and you were working as hard as anyone on findin' the Frost kid."

Beth scoffed and turned away. "Not that I delivered any results..."

Bobby folded his arms. "You are just determined to take a dump on your contributions, aren't you?"

She turned back to look Bobby in the face. "I'm sorry, I appreciate the compliment, really. I'm just frustrated right now. I mean, Ash could've tracked that guy down in an hour, and it's not like I've been any more useful trying to find a solution for Dean..."

"Hey," Bobby interrupted, voice firm and level. "You ain't Ash, and no one expects you to be. Hell, you've got no obligation to help out with any of this crap in the first place. And you are bein' useful. Hunting is as much beating your head against a wall chasing dead ends as it is shooting monsters. It ain't about knowing all the answers off the top of your head, it's about having the patience to keep looking even when answers are hard to find."

Beth still wasn't sure about the value of her contributions, but she felt her mouth curl into a private smile nonetheless. She was constantly amazed that Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Sam, and even Dean had accepted her so readily into their world. They didn't mind that she hardly knew what she was doing, that she was more of a liability than an asset. They made her feel like she belonged.

While Beth was still working through that pang of affection, Jo came out of the bathroom, toweling the last moisture out of her hair. She flashed a brilliant smile at Bobby and Beth. "Well, are we ready to head home?"


	24. The Family Business

Chapter 24 ~ The Family Business

It occurred to Beth around the time that she was shooting the black dog in the face that she probably officially qualified as a hunter, now.

She and Jo didn't go looking for hunts the way the Winchesters did, but if they stumbled across one in the course of their usual research, or if Bobby had a case and nobody to handle it, they couldn't just ignore it. It wasn't a common occurrence, but every so often the women found themselves packing up their gear and heading out to take care of some problem or another, such as the massive dog-like creature that had been menacing the streets of Baker, Montana at night.

"Good job," Jo remarked breathlessly as she made her way over to the beast and nudged it with her rifle, making sure it was dead.

"Thanks," Beth replied, lowering her shotgun and leaning back against the nearest streetlamp to catch her breath. "So do we have to do anything in particular to make sure that thing stays dead?"

"Nope, but we should probably bury it anyway. Don't really want to leave a dead monster out in the middle of the street," Jo reasoned.

Beth groaned in response. She was _not_ a fan of grave digging. "Yeah, fine. You wanna go get the car?"

Jo nodded. "Sure, I'll be back in a few."

As Jo walked off in the direction of the Thunderbird, Beth pulled out her phone. She liked to text Ellen with updates, so that her surrogate mother would worry a little less. Beth wasn't about to make her decision to hunt contingent on Ellen's—or anyone else's—approval, but she didn't want to alienate her new family, either. Having driven away her old one was bad enough.

~—~

When Beth and Jo arrived back home in the late afternoon of the next day, Bobby's truck was parked out front and he was in the process of unloading the boxes of books he had brought over. In their continued search for a solution to Dean's deal, they had been using a divide and conquer strategy to work through Bobby's extensive library.

"Girls," he greeted in his characteristically terse manner when they parked beside him and emerged from the car, stretching after the long drive. "Hunt went okay?"

"Mmhm," Beth answered simply. A play-by-play didn't seem particularly necessary. "Need a hand with those?"

"Sure," he replied, handing her a heavily laden box.

Ellen was waiting for them inside, already unpacking and sorting boxes of books. "Hey girls," she said with a smile that only betrayed a hint of relief. "Glad you're home."

"Hey, Mom," Jo replied as she headed upstairs with their duffel bags.

Beth returned Ellen's smile as she set down her box next to the one Bobby had just brought in.

"I gotta tell ya, I really appreciate you all doing this for Dean," Bobby told them as Beth straightened up. "It ain't fun, but I know it means a lot to him and Sam."

"Of course, Bobby," Ellen said, and Beth nodded in agreement.

Coming back down the stairs, Jo added, "We may not always see eye to eye with them, but it's not like we're gonna leave them out to dry."

"I know that," Bobby nodded. "But sometimes those boys forget they've got more family than just them."

Beth glanced at Bobby's face and found he was wearing a crooked smile. "I like that," she told him. "We're like one big family."

~—~

When Beth's cell phone rang the following evening, she was surprised to see that it was Sam calling. Normally Beth and the Harvelles would call the Winchesters if they had intel, or pass their information to Bobby so he could let the brothers know. And even then, it seemed like more often than not Dean was the one they communicated with.

But she was far from ungrateful as she answered the call. "Hey, Sam. What's going on?"

There's a moment of hesitation across the line. "I, uh. I just had a really shitty day."

"Oh," Beth said, taking in the fact that Sam was having a hard day and called _her_. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know." A pause. "I guess. Did you hear about the police station explosion in Colorado?" He sounded bone-tired.

"Yeah." Beth spent several hours a day scanning the news as part of her research routine, and it was hard to miss an explosion with multiple fatalities, particularly when the official explanation was so unconvincing. "I was wondering if it was our kind of deal. You guys were involved in that?"

"Yeah. This demon, Lilith, has been looking for us. We managed to stop the small army of minions she sent after us, thought it was all over, but not long after we left she had the whole damn place blown up."

"Oh God." Not only was it awful, but if she knew the Winchesters at all, they were busy blaming themselves.

Sure enough, Sam continued, his voice rough and bitter, "So yeah. We just got a bunch of innocent people killed. Not a really great day."

Beth sighed, not entirely sure she could convince him that he wasn't at fault. If she were in that situation, she'd doubtlessly be blaming herself. "Look, that... sucks, it's really shitty that things went down that way. But... you're not responsible for the actions of some demon just because she was looking for you. Shit goes bad like that sometimes, that's just life."

"Yeah, except I think we could've prevented it. We made a call, and I guess it was the wrong one, and now half a dozen people are dead."

Beth was quiet for a moment, thinking about what to say. It seemed that the best option was to simply ask, "What happened?"

"Well, Ruby showed up," Sam began, "And she said she knew this spell that could kill all of the demons without harming their hosts, but..." He trailed off for a moment, then said, quietly, "The spell required killing a virgin. We decided we couldn't do it and came up with another plan. Because of that, everyone ended up dead."

"Fuck," Beth whispered. "I... fuck. That's such a shitty decision to have to make. For what it's worth, I'm sorry you were ever in that situation in the first place."

Sam scoffed. "I'm not really looking for sympathy here. I'm just... God, I feel like I'm not sure about anything anymore. I mean, if slaughtering an innocent girl might be the right call, what do you _do_ with that? What does that make us?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I mean, people have been struggling with this kind of stuff for thousands of years, and no one's come up with the answer yet. Ethics sucks like that. At least you're not the only one who has no idea?"

"That's not much consolation," he pointed out. Sam sighed, and Beth waited for him to speak again. "The other thing is... I'm starting to feel like we can't win, you know? I mean, I thought we had _finally_ beaten the odds for once, and then it all went to shit. It's like nothing we do really matters in the end. No matter how hard we try, things always end bloody."

"Why do I get the feeling we're not just talking about the explosion anymore?" Beth ventured.

Sam chuckled a little at that, but it was a fairly mirthless sound. "You sound like a shrink."

"Well, I'm guessing you've never been to see an _actual_ shrink, so I'll have to do." Beth was pretty sure she knew what this was about, but she didn't want to push too hard. "Come on, Sam, you can talk to me."

"Yeah, fine. It's not like it's that hard to guess..." Nonetheless, it still took him a few moments to get the words out. "Dean's dying, and I don't think I can save him. I'm failing him, just like I failed those people at the police station, just like I failed Jess."

Beth made a mental note to ask Ellen who Jess was, since now was clearly not the time or place. Right now, she needed to figure out what the hell she could say to all that.

"Saving Dean isn't up to just you," she began, but Sam cut her off.

"Sometimes I think Dean doesn't even want to save himself."

"Well yeah, Dean clearly has terrible coping mechanisms. Even I can see that, and I barely know him." Beth heard a low chuckle come through the phone. "But that's not what I was talking about. You two aren't alone in this. I'm here for you, and so are Bobby and Jo and Ellen. We're going to find a way to save him. Together."

"You sound like Bobby," Sam told her, but his voice was warm.

Beth grinned. "I'm flattered."

Sam chuckled again. "Listen, thanks for letting me vent about all this."

"Sure," Beth said. "Anytime."


End file.
